#as more and more pieces of me collapse in upon themselves

[freepassbound]

The centre cannot hold.

[marie-m-art]

Good Animated Omens - Behind the Scenes

Here's a behind-the-scenes look at the walk cycles I animated of Aziraphale and Crowley (original post here).

I'll reiterate that the character designs are @lookitsstevie's creation! I made builds in Toonboom Harmony based on their designs, and then animated the builds.

Long post under the cut, organized into four parts. Feel free to jump around or just click through the images and gifs to get an idea of the gist. (At least take a look at Part IV, where you'll see a version of Aziraphale without his jacket and a closeup of Crowley's torso!)

Hopefully this is interesting even if you don't know the first thing about animation. It's not a step-by-step-from-scratch tutorial, but it might give animators some ideas to think about when trying this software!

I'm happy to answer questions about what I cover here - comments, DM's, or ask-box questions are all fine by me. If you like any of the new gifs and want to reblog it on its own, I can make new posts for those upon request! (I'd prefer you don't reupload them, but if you do please at least credit me with a tag to my account - thank you!!)

Part I: The interface and some basics

Above is a screencap of the software interface.

In the centre is the Camera window, where all the drawing and animating is done. 

To the left, the Node View. It's a representation of how the pieces and layers that make the characters are grouped and connected to each other, which is what makes a character "build". Every piece in this window is called a node, and there are different types. Light blue "drawing nodes" contain the drawings themselves. Each drawing node usually has a green "peg" attached; the peg is used to move and rotate the drawing piece; you set a pivot point on each peg. Light grey nodes are groups that have more nodes within, and dark blue nodes are added effects (eg masks, the blur for the halo, etc).

Below, the Timeline - it's where keyframes are set and tweened. The red square dots indicate there is a new keyframe on a particular frame; the white dots indicate keyframes are on layers nested somewhere under the topmost visible layer. All the pieces of the characters can be found in the timeline and correspond to the pieces that exist in the Node View (and Camera). Typically you work with a collapsed view of the build layers in the timeline, which allows you to set keyframes on multiple layers at once.

To the right, a few tabs in this window - Tool Properties, Colour Palettes, and, shown on top here, the Library. The library is where you store your builds, so that you can bring in a fresh copy when animating a new scene. This library tab also has the Drawing Substitution window, which shows thumbnails of every drawing contained in a drawing node when that node is selected.

A second of animation is 24 frames long. Finished animation will often have keyframes on every second frame with the tweens removed, to help simulate the look and feel of traditional animation - this is known as animating "on twos", and saved time, money and paper in the old days. If you leave the tweens on, and/or have keyframes on every frame, the animation is "on ones".

My walks are on twos - it's the look I prefer.

When I say "tween" I'm specifically referring to the software feature that will automatically calculate and interpolate the path between two different poses/keys of a peg. An inbetween could be the result of using a tween, a new drawing, or both. On twos, an inbetween will look the same as any other keyframe on the timeline when you're finished - its relevance as a concept is during the process, not the end result.

Quality animation is achieved via a combination of moving/tweening pre-existing drawings using their pegs, and adding new drawings as hand-drawn inbetweens when needed. Toonboom Harmony also has nodes called "deformers": they offer a way to tween the shape of a drawing without needing to redraw inside the drawing node. (Part IV has the explanation for which pieces I used them for, and why.)

Part II: Navigating the builds

This is what their default poses with no animation look like.

Animation using builds is sometimes colloquially referred to as "puppet-style animation" because the way you can connect body parts to each other feels like making and handling a 2D digital puppet: you can connect a hand to a forearm so that they can move as a unit, and you can connect that unit to an upper arm to move the whole arm as a unit, and that arm gets connected to the torso, and so on.

When you want to connect two pieces, like a hand to a forearm, then you create another peg in the Node View and attach the two body parts together under that new peg. The screencaps below show the nodes that make up Aziraphale's and Crowley's entire builds inside their respective groups:

Things got a bit sloppy ... It looks extremely complicated, but once it's set up, you don't have to think about it too much when you're animating!

And I've zoomed in on the nodes that make their arms so you can see how there are pegs on top of pegs (all the green nodes), with wires connecting everything:

As I explained in Part I, new drawings are added and contained within a body part's drawing node (the light blue ones under the green ones), and the Drawing Substitution window is where you can see all the drawings that exist in a particular node. In the timeline, you set keyframes for moving the pegs, and you also choose which frame the new drawings will appear when applicable. You might have a lot of drawings stored in the nodes, but only what you set to appear in the timeline will be visible in the final animation.

You can select a body part in the camera view, and then find the corresponding layer in the Timeline or the Node View by pressing the "o" keyboard shortcut. If you select a body part by clicking on it, and then press the "b" keyboard shortcut, you will jump up to the next peg it's connected to. You can hide and unhide pieces using "d" and "a" respectively.

In the first capture above, I'm showing that the arm pieces can be moved separately or together, and you can see how the pegs in the Node View light up when I select them in the Camera window (hiding them turns them red). In the second capture, I pop down to the timeline to step back and forth between the poses - the light grey row (it appears between the rows of red dots) represents the hand's drawing node in the timeline.

Part III: Summary of animation process

In my head I imagined how their walks would differ from each other - Aziraphale bouncier but with very straight posture and limited arm movement, vs Crowley slinking and swaggering all over.

I also knew that I wanted the animation to look good for both a walking-on-the-spot version, and as a version walking across the screen (both versions are at the top of the post!).

Then I started doing some rough animation.

I set aside my finished builds for the roughs. For each character, I made a few drawing nodes and two pegs; a peg for the up-and-down upper body motion, which I tweened, and a peg for moving them across the screen. The legs and arms are drawing substitutions.

With these extremely rudimentary rough "builds", I worked out - how many frames long the walks would be, - how far the characters would move across the screen each step, - how much the upper bodies would move up and down, and - the key drawings of the legs and feet.

I didn't worry about animating clothing, hair, or Azi's arms in the rough stage. For those elements, the drawings would be spaced really close together and would be easier to figure out with tweens. (Note: this rudimentary setup would be sufficient if you want to clean up and inbetween characters by hand frame-by-frame instead of making full builds; my preference is build animation because the process is more fun for me)

Then I started working with the finished builds, using the roughs as a guide, and established the broadest motions first: the up-and-down motion in the upper bodies (I set a keyframe at the lowest point, a keyframe at the highest point, then tweened between them) and how far they'd travel across the screen. Then the feet were done.

I went back and forth between viewing them walking on the spot and walking across the screen to make sure that both versions worked. I also made sure they crossed the same amount of ground relative to each other.

After those crucial parts, I moved on to animating their arms, hair, torsos, clothing details, and finishing the legs, not necessarily in that order. I simulated twisting/rotating their torsos in 3d space by moving their waistcoats and lapels.

The first gif switches back and forth between versions (imagine a background scrolling by when they walk on the spot). The second gif is an example of bad "footslip" - they're moving at different speeds, and if you pay attention to their feet, Aziraphale appears to slip on ice while Crowley appears to slide forward on skates.

"You go too fast for me, Crowley!"

Part IV: Extras and details

Here is a version of Aziraphale's walk without his jacket, and a closeup of Crowley so you can see his swaying hips better:

One of the cool things about animating with builds is they lend themselves well to small modifications; the jacketless version took all of five minutes to make.

I'd be remiss not to include a close-up of Aziraphale's hair, the real star of the animation :) (Crowley's hair is also animated but I purposefully kept it understated since it's a much different texture.) And a closeup image of Crowley's snake tattoo:

The biggest unit for both of them are their upper bodies, which includes their pelvises. The up-and-down motion is only on one peg instead of on every single piece, which is handy because it means I can hide just that part of the animation when I want to work on the clothing details:

During the process of animation, I am often hiding then unhiding pieces like this so I can see what I'm doing.

Their clothing ended up being a lot of separate pieces, which I kept adding during animation rather than before, as it was hard to predict everything I needed. Their clothing also incorporates cutters (aka masks), and deformers (see explanation in Part I). In the next set of gifs the deformers show up as green outlines with handles and get turned on and off.

Aziraphale's torso functions as a mask for his clothing. The shape of his torso subtly changes via deformer. His lapels and waistcoat have V shapes that are masks/cutters (they cut a V shape out of those pieces); the same pieces that make the cutters also are used for the black lines of those V shapes via a special layering setup. The main shapes of his lapels are animated with deformers, and you can see how far beyond his torso shape they extend when I turn on the deformers in the second gif.

Deformers work best for shapes that change a little bit, and/or slowly. The minor shape changes in his and Crowley's clothes ended up being a great use case for deformers, because they pretty much tweened perfectly.

The reason I didn't use them on Aziraphale's legs was because those shapes change significantly between keys; I predicted I'd have to re-adjust every frame of a tweened deformer, so I drew the inbetweens by hand (halfway through, I realized I probably should have used them after all, but I was in too deep by then; hand drawing was fun though!). Deformers worked well on his bottom jacket:

Crowley's pelvis is layered above and below his thigh pieces and has a deformer. Also take a look at all the drawing substitutions for his hands:

And lastly the deformers on the hair:

Epilogue

I'm hoping the gifs all play at the same speed for everyone as they play for me. Hopefully the demo gifs are at least watchable, if not super clear... (I'll listen to feedback on the presentation of the information, for if I do similar posts in future!) Don't hesitate to ask questions about anything I covered, or about any details you noticed that I didn't elaborate on!

ko-fi.com/marieanimate

I'm shy about mentioning it, but I set up a Ko-fi account in case this post compels anyone to leave a small "tip" (but reblogging and sharing is just as good)!

Thanks for reading, and have a nice day!

[chelseeebe]

still into you

after abruptly leaving hawkins (and you) seven years ago, eddie munson, ex-boyfriend turned rockstar, makes a grand return. how will things pan out when your lives couldn’t be further apart?

this has been in the drafts for god knows how long and you can definitely tell where my writing started to improve as i came back to it.. hope y’all enjoy anyway! this is so long good lord. also includes a bit of bestfriendism with stevie!

18+. mdni. smut. mentions of alcohol. eddie is a dickhead. no use of y/n!

read part two here.

‎♡‧₊˚

‘you know he’s coming back next weekend?’ steve mutters, nodding towards you as you rip the sellotape from the brown box, beginning to stack the cans of soup.

‘is he? oh my god oh my god,’ feigning excitement with a straight face.

you’d already known he was coming back, you’d received the invitation just like everybody else. except, you’d swiftly put the gimmicky piece of paper into the trash and got on with your day. confused why everyone else seemed to be losing their goddamn minds over it.

he huffs quietly, helping you with the heavy tins, ‘are you gonna go?’ steve didn’t actually work in melvalds but came in on his breaks purely to chat and distract you from your work.

‘am i gonna go? hmm, let me think.. no.’

‘he wants to see you.. you should come,’ prodding his elbow into your side, collapsing the box into a flat piece of cardboard.

‘you spoke to him?’ ears perking up. you didn’t care if he’d mentioned you. no, really.

‘yeah.. he called a few weeks ago, y’know when the invitations got sent out,’ picking up the next box to start filling the shelf.

‘oh! it’s nice to know he called you and just hilarious to know i never got a phone call,’ getting frankly quite sick of hearing about eddie fucking munson and his grand return.

once upon a time, eddie had actually been your boyfriend. must’ve been 7 or so years ago by this point.. anyway, that was before he’d got his big break and decided that he was going to completely forget about hawkins.. and about you. you’d still been together after his first tiny tour, excitedly waiting for him to come home when he just.. never did.

he’d had the decency to at least call and tell you that he was breaking up with you.. we’re just in different places right now.. it’s not you.. i don’t want you to ruin your life waiting for me..

it was essentially a whole bunch of bullshit, because the very next month he was spotted with some bottle blonde model looking suspiciously close at some club he’d have absolutely hated the year prior. it was like a punch to the gut, flicking through the pages of the trashy magazine just knowing that you hadn’t been enough for this new lifestyle of his.

from then on, you’d decided to disengage with any and everything about him. turning the tv off when corroded coffin came on one of the morning talk shows, leaving the room at parties when one of his song’s inevitably came on and just completely blanking out of the conversation when his name was brought up. it was easier that way, saved your feelings and the awkward glances you’d get.

at some point things had become slightly more complicated and you’re not sure how exactly it had happened but you had wound up pregnant. and by jason carver no less. maybe it was your shared disdain for eddie that had brought you together. who knows?

but it had happened and now you had to deal with it. and although jason may come in a close second to world’s biggest assholes.. you had gained a beautiful daughter from it all and had become quite content with your single mom life.

people had come and gone, robin jetting off to some fancy college in california.. jonathan and nancy ending up in new york at some hot-shot newspaper.. the kids you’d sort of gathered had all gone off to various colleges, becoming adults themselves. all except for steve.

steve had stayed in hawkins like you, begrudgingly following his father’s footsteps, getting a job at his accounting firm. it was good money and kept his dad happy so he couldn’t fault it really. he’d even got his own place just down the street from your house and at some point you’d just accepted that he was probably your only friend in hawkins.

it had brought the two of you undeniably closer and maybe you’d even call him your best friend now. well, except for right now as he was beginning to piss you off with all this fussing over eddie.

‘you have to come.. it’s not just for him, everyone is going.. it’s a reunion,’ steve continues to pester you despite your efforts to shut him down.

‘steve, i’m not going and that’s that.’

he sighs, staring at you with a blank expression, ‘okay, well.. i’ll tell him it’s a maybe,’ checking his watch before frowning, ‘shit, i’m late.. i’ll see you later,’ throwing the empty cardboard to the floor before dashing off down the aisle, giving you an exaggerated wave as he disappears.

you just knew that he was not going to drop this until you agreed to go. but he could kick and scream as much as he liked, you had absolutely zero desire to go this flimsy reunion and even less desire to see eddie in the flesh.

-

it’s another dull week of stacking shelves and managing a team of absolute morons and before you know it, it’s the day before that fucking reunion and steve is still as incessant as ever that you must go.

‘my mom can look after ella.. please just come,’ he sounded like he was a second away from getting on his knees to actually beg you to go.

you’d started to just ignore him now, getting on with whatever you were doing, choosing to give him the silent treatment. he hated that.

‘you’re so annoying,’ he scoffs, still helping you unbox the bags of chips, ‘will you just come for five minutes.. you don’t even have to talk to eddie, it’s the first time we’ll all be together again.. puh-leaseee,’ breaking into a weird sort of sing-song tone.

you exhale through your nose, visibly frustrated by the man, ‘i’m going to ban you in a minute,’ raising your eyebrows, taking the same tone you used when ella was being a brat.

‘no you won’t,’ furrowing his brows, ‘what if i promise to stand in between you the whole night? i’ll beat him with a stick if he even tries to talk to you,’ completely serious with what he just said.

you chortle, covering your mouth as one of the elderly customers walks past, slightly bewildered by the noise that just escaped your mouth, ‘couldn’t you just beat him with a stick anyway?’

‘ehh.. not really, he is paying for the whole thing,’ straightening the bags of air he’d just placed on the shelf, ‘i mean, i could if you really want me to.’

you roll your eyes, of course he was. he’d rented the fanciest restaurant just outside of town for your gaggle of pals. any chance to flaunt the fact that he’d made it out of this hell hole and left the rest of you in the dirt.

‘i have a child, steve, i can’t just go out and leave her at home.. some of us aren’t free like you are,’ turning to face him with a stern hand on your hip.

‘i just told you my mom’ll look after her.. she hasn’t seen her in so long and.. and you can stay at mine and i’ll take you to her first thing in the morning,’ his eyes are round, glimmering in the harsh overhead lights.

‘i don’t have anything to wear,’ shrugging, you really didn’t. becoming a mother isn’t quite so glamorous and a lot of clothes you’d once fit into had become a little tight.

‘when d’you finish?’

narrowing your eyes at him, ‘two..’

‘great.. okay well, i’ll take a half-day and we can go shopping.. on me,’ wiggling his eyebrows at you. the thing about steve is that he believes that most problems can be solved by throwing money at it.

he wasn’t wrong, of course.

because you reluctantly agree to go shopping with him on the condition that you weren’t definitely going to this thing. you were just going to try on dresses. that was it.

-

you get a cab to the restaurant, there was no way in hell you were doing this sober nor did you want to subject steve to being sober for your sake. palms clammy as you clamber out of the vehicle, immediately regretting your decision.

no one would care if you didn’t go, right? you could quite easily just get back into the taxi and go home without forcing yourself to endure the night.

steve’s one step ahead of you, grabbing your hand so you can’t run away. throwing him an awful glare but you weren’t really mad, just annoyed that he’d succeeded in persuading you to come.

‘c’mon.. it won’t be so bad once you’re in there,’ smoothing down his fresh shirt as he begins to walk up the winding path, dragging you along behind him.

he’s wrong. it’s so much worse inside. the place was huge, extravagantly decorated and full of people you’d once regarded as your best friends, all too busy in their own conversations to notice you and steve walk in.

it wasn’t like you hadn’t heard from them, it had just been through occasional letters and christmas cards rather than seeing them face to face. robin would call sometimes, fill you in on whatever she had been up to and beg to speak to ella who absolutely loved it. you were sure they were on the same wavelength.

you look to steve with wary eyes, digging your fingertips into his hand, ‘we could just leave right now.. no one would even know,’ tugging gently on his arm.

‘hey,’ he whispers, ‘it’s okay.. look, robin’s coming over, we’ll say hi and see how you feel,’ using his spare hand to wave at the bubbly girl, dropping your hand to give her a hug.

‘oh my god,’ she rushes, ‘how are you? you look so good.. and i don’t mean you,’ pulling away from steve to throw her arms around you, her gentle hands rubbing on your back.

‘hah, it’s nice to see you too,’ steve rolls his eyes, grabbing two of the champagne flutes being ferried around by fancy waiters.

she pulls back, ‘i didn’t think you were coming.. how are you doing? how’s ella?’ the words falling out of her mouth at super speed, it was as if her mouth moved before her brain did.

‘i wasn’t gonna but i wanted to see you guys,’ you nod, taking the glass from steve’s outstretched hand and taking a lengthy sip, ‘i’m okay.. ella’s okay.. you’ll have to come and see her before you leave.’

‘i will i will! i literally landed like two hours ago and had to rush but i’m back until friday,’ her hands flying around as she spoke, ‘come and say hello..’ her arm intertwines with yours as she leans in closer to your ear, ‘he’s staring y’know..’

your eyes roll back on their own, not even wanting to search the room for him, ‘i’m not speaking to him so he can stare all he likes,’ straightening up as you approach the group robin had left.

nancy’s talking to max about something in incredible detail but is quite to stop when you approach, mouth in a small ‘o’ as she hugs you, ‘you came? i thought we were gonna miss you,’ grinning wide when she pulls back.

you give an overdramatic sigh, ‘of course i had to come.. you’d all miss me too much,’ waving to the rest of the group.

there are a lot of small pleasantries swapped, asking about their journey’s here and how they’d been.. standard small talk. but then el asks to see a picture of ella, ecstatic that their names were so similar. you’d come prepared, pulling the creased picture out of your bag.

they all gush and coo over her, it was a picture you’d snapped from her first day of kindergarten, cheesing with her pigtails and pink hair bobbles. passing it around the gathered group, still steadily sipping on the bitter champagne.

‘who’s that?’ eddie asks, you hadn’t noticed him sidle over to the crowd, stood peering over lucas’ shoulder at the photograph.

your eyes meet his, seeing his face for the first time in what felt like centuries. he looked older, obviously, still sporting the same long curls except now it actually looked as if it’d been styled. he’s in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, forearms now littered with tattoos and a nice looking watch. your heart just about stops beating when you realise you’ll now have to explain exactly who that is.

‘uh.. that’s ella,’ you nod, not quite meeting his eyes, ‘..my daughter,’ taking the photo from lucas’ hand, the atmosphere had quite suddenly shifted and people begin to scatter, starting their own conversations so they don’t have to bare witness to this one.

‘oh.. oh, right.. well, congratulations then,’ the shadow of a smile on his lips, could he feel how fucking awkward this was?

‘thank you,’ giving him a half nod, startled as steve’s hand brushes the small of your back. he’d seen that you were in conversation and had left dustin to fulfil his security guard promise.

‘it’s nice that you two found each other.. you have a beautiful daughter,’ still not fully committed to smiling but he was getting there.

your face contorts, immediately looking to steve before letting out a god awful cackle, ‘oh no.. she’s not steve’s,’ covering your mouth before another taunting laugh comes out.

steve is trying to stifle his grin but fails, reaching his hand out to shake eddie’s hand, ‘ah man, no ella’s not mine but she is beautiful, isn’t she? how are you?’

you’re eternally grateful that he he’s managed to sway the conversation and you aren’t forced to explain why or how you’d had a child with jason fucking carver. turning back to robin as you hear steve ramble on about work and corroded coffin’s new album, something you had absolutely no care about.

‘shall we get another drink?’ robin asks, eyeing the open bar and your empty glass.

‘please.’

the rest of the night is going.. relatively well. it’s kinda unsettling to watch the younger kids drink legally, getting more boisterous and loud as the night progresses. it’s nice, if not a little sad just thinking about how you weren’t really able to enjoy yourself at their age because you had a newborn.

you must’ve been deep in thought as you don’t even notice eddie creep up to the empty table, standing awkwardly besides your chair, ‘can we talk?’

your eyes shoot up to meet his, baffled by his presence, ‘what could we possibly have to talk about?’

he exhales through his nose, ‘uh.. a lot? we don’t have to do it here.. i have a room upstairs or.. outside?’

‘no,’ gripping onto your glass of wine, desperately trying to grab the attention of someone behind eddie to come and save you, ‘i don’t want to speak to you.’

he’s exasperated, clutching onto his beer with strained white knuckles. how were you ever supposed to move past this when you wouldn’t even give him the opportunity to explain himself. but that was exactly it. you didn’t care about any of the silly excuses you’re sure he’d conjured up, he did what he did and that was that.

‘i’m trying here..’ sounding exasperated, ‘how ‘bout dinner? sometime this week, on me,’ his voice is deeper now, raspier. you figure as a result of constant partying and chain smoking while on tour.

‘i have a child and a job.. i don’t have time for dinner with you on top of that,’ swallowing the rest of the sweet white wine, putting the empty glass back on the table with a forceful slam.

you make brief eye contact with will who was passing behind eddie and decide to take the opportunity to pounce, standing from your chair and rushing over the second he nears your table.

‘will.. hey,’ speeding to catch him up, mouthing a small save me, clinging to his arm as you move away from eddie who was stood deflated at the table.

will thankfully catches your drift, steering you towards the bar, ‘you okay? i was just about to leave..’ placing his empty glass onto the bar with a soft sigh.

‘what? no.. if i can’t go then you’re not allowed either,’ talking sternly to the boy even though he now towered above you and just about everybody else in here.

he screws up his face, looking over to the dance floor, ‘it’s just..’ sighing once again, ‘awful, isn’t it?’ following his gaze to an intoxicated mike performing an elaborate air guitar routine in the middle of the floor.

it wasn’t exactly the same, but you could empathise with the difficult situation and that foul feeling in your stomach that you were sure he could feel too. you could imagine that it wasn’t easy to see the man you’d once, or perhaps still loved after so long. in fact, you didn’t really need to imagine at all.

deciding it was better to change the subject, distract him from the unraveling scene on the dance floor, ‘d’you smoke?’

he looks around quickly, watching out for a listening jonathan, you assume before he nods quickly, ‘but no one can know,’ a hint of a smile creeping onto his face.

you return the devilish grin before hooking your arm in his, pulling him towards the door where you could get the hell away from annoying men and their long black hair.

-

it’s gone three by the time you get back to steve’s, genuinely having to coax him from the party and into the cab you’d shared with a belligerent dustin, making sure he had got home safely.

‘i wasn’t too mean, was i?’ snuggled up in steve’s blankets, facing each other in the low light of his room.

‘nooo, no you were on fire,’ he laughs, he was still tipsy and slightly reeking of booze as he lay next to you.

‘really? you’re sure?’ he was definitely just drunk and blabbing on but you’d take it.

‘yes.. it was perfect,’ he hiccups, interrupting his sentence, ‘buuut.. and i’m not the only one who said this so don’t kill me..’ kissing the back of his teeth, ‘you’re not gonna like what i have to say.’

‘what? what is it?’ prodding his shoulder with a quick jab. knowing eddie, he’d probably gone round the party whispering some bullshit about the two of you.

‘well..’ holding his hands in the air, ‘there’s still chemistry there.. y’know i could see it,’ raising his eyebrows, hands collapsing onto the blanket.

‘right, i’m going to sleep.. you’re drunk and just saying stupid shit now,’ rolling your eyes as you settle into the soft pillow, closing your eyes so you no longer had to entertain his idiotic nonsense.

he chortles, hiccuping mid-laugh which makes a horrid choking noise, ‘i’m not that drunk.. robin said it too,’ the lamp clicks off, darkening the room, ‘and dustin..’

‘go to sleep steve,’ unamused and tired.

‘okay okay.. goodnight,’ he calls, you can hear the smile in his voice as he turns to face the other way, taking that as your opportunity to rest your head on his back, nuzzling into the soft cotton t-shirt.

-

monday is particularly awful and you’re reminded exactly why you don’t drink often. two days on and you’re still exhausted, half-heartedly filling the shelves and just trying to make it to two o’clock.

in your tired state, one of the bottles of shampoo you were putting out, falls out of your hand and rolls off somewhere down the aisle. you sigh, a deep, fed-up, exhaustive sigh and get up to go and fetch it when the bottle appears before your face, a tattooed, ring-filled hand latched onto it.

‘carver? really?’ eddie frowns, watching you from above, eyebrows furrowed together.

you place the bottle onto it’s rightful spot on the shelf and choose to ignore him. if he’d come all the way down here just to piss you off about your poor life choices then he could get fucked.

‘when’d that happen?’

blanking him again as you continue to put stuff onto the shelves. this was the easiest way to guarantee that you weren’t going to get yourself fired for being rude to him.

‘you gonna ignore me? i just wanna know,’ still poking and prodding, he clearly wasn’t very good at picking up on context clues.

nothing.

‘fuck, can you just talk to me for five minutes?’ your silence was driving him crazy, aggravating him to no end.

‘i’m at work, so no,’ hurriedly trying to finish the stock you had so you had an excuse to rush out the back and away from him.

he was fortunate that it was a quiet monday, the store full of mostly older ladies who had no idea who he was. you sorta hoped that he’d get mobbed and would have to hurry off and leave you alone.

‘why jason? out of literally everyone else in this shithole you choose jason?’ screwing his face up in disgust.

you slam the box cutter down with a loud clatter, causing a few turned heads and raised eyebrows. fuck ‘em. if you had done what you’d really wanted to do, you’d be locked up forever.

‘i don’t know if you remember this but my boyfriend of like, two years ran away and never came home so yeah.. that kinda fucked with me a little and lucky for me, jason carver was there and also hated my ex’s guts.. so it was perfect, you know?’ staring flatly at him, you were not dealing with his shit today.

eddie scoffs, ‘so you had a kid with him? and now.. what? you play happy families just to spite me? is that it?’

‘yes eddie, i had a whole child just to piss you off.’

he gawps back at you, clearly also did not possess the ability to sense sarcasm.

‘no,’ scowling at him, ‘it was an accident and now he’s.. i dunno, coaching basketball at some school in ohio or some shit.. why don’t you go and bother him?’

‘so you’re not together?’

you can only roll your eyes in response, in sheer disbelief that he’d made such a fuss because he couldn’t just outright ask if you were single.

un-fucking-believable.

you’ve had just about enough of this conversation, pulling your little trolley back towards the swing doors that lead to the warehouse. at least he wasn’t allowed in there.

‘wait! wait..’ he grabs onto the other side of the trolley, stopping you from walking off, ‘have dinner with me tonight or.. tomorrow?’ eyes big and pleading.

‘now why would i do that?’

‘because i want to explain myself.. i need to.’

one of the younger shoppers notices who he is and begins trying to talk to him, coming over to where you two stood rather excitedly. eddie is kind enough to smile and give her a few polite words, eyes still latched onto yours despite the ecstatic woman beside him.

‘okay,’ honestly just wanting to get away from all this commotion, ‘tomorrow.’

his scowl subsides, replaced by a gleaming grin, ‘six o’clock.. pino’s, i’ll sort it, okay?’ already starting to walk away from the crazy woman.

‘right,’ you nod, pulling your trolley away and into the back warehouse, leaning against the concrete wall. the whole exchange was tiring, knocking whatever tiny bit of energy out of you.

were you actually gonna go?

absolutely fucking not.

-

by the time six rolls around the next night, you really had forgotten all about it. rushing to get ella her dinner after swimming lessons, already worrying about paying for yet another field trip she’d sprung on you earlier. you’d begun to wonder if they even taught in the classrooms anymore with the amount of permission slips she brought home.

she’s finally settled into bed, after much protesting and a lot of coaxing. you’re just about to finally relax on the couch when someone hammers on your front door. and if you weren’t already pissed off with ella’s whining, you were most definitely about to be with whichever mindless prick was banging on your door.

‘what do you want?’ you hiss, jerking the door open to reveal a pathetic looking eddie on the other side, face forlorn and dejected.

he’s in that white shirt again. it makes you sick to your stomach to admit that it really does look good on him. his arms now more defined, the cotton sticking to his muscles, briefly showcasing the new tattoos underneath. maybe he’d actually got off of his ass and did something other than smoke weed all day.

‘oh so you are alive, d’you forget about something?’ he’s snarling now, having conjured up some elaborate excuse in his head as to why you hadn’t showed, only to find you at home, seemingly with no care in the world.

‘oops,’ the corners of your mouth twitching into a smile, you hadn’t even actually meant to stand him up, you were just gonna call his hotel and cancel but the thought had just completely slipped your mind.

and even if it shouldn’t, it really did feel good. knowing he was the one sat waiting for you for once.

‘oops? i sat there for an hour waiting for you and then spent the last hour trying to convince dustin to give me your fucking address.. and all you can say is oops?’

you shrug, ‘feels pretty shitty to be forgotten about, doesn’t it?’ tilting your head, watching as his face falls. he’d been got.

‘okay.. okay, i get it, and i’m sorry.. there’s not a day that goes by that i don’t feel like shit for how i treated you,’ his head dips low, looking particularly sorry for himself.

and for a second you do too. not that he deserved it. quickly having to remind yourself exactly what he had done to you, which was not at all helped by the fact that he now had everything he’d ever wanted in life.

and you couldn’t fault your life. truly. but fuck did it sting sometimes, to know that your life had stagnated, stuck in the same shitty town you’d grown up in while he was on the other side of the country, more money than sense and a hoard of doting fans that would do absolutely anything he’d ask of them.

‘good,’ you bark, going to slam the door shut only for it to bang against his black boot wedged in the door, ‘if you don’t move your foot i’ll- i’ll call the police.’

‘no you won’t,’ his hand reaches out to grab onto the other side of the handle, he could’ve easily pushed his way in if he’d really wanted, ‘let’s talk.. like adults,’ begging you now, ‘please.’

you huff, this would end with you either letting him in or being forced to wake ella after you bashed his head into the doorframe. it was easier to just accept the first option and you’d find some bullshit to get him to leave later on.

opening the door wider to let him in, keeping your eyes square on the ground as he walks through, peering around at your home. probably comparing it to his mansion in the hollywood hills the pretentious fuck.

‘nice..’ he nods, leaning in to look at the photo of you and ella a few christmas’ ago, she was tiny then, sporting a miniature santa hat.

‘yeah well, she’s asleep upstairs so.. make it quick,’ you frown, closing the door behind him, watching as his eyes take in the cluttered room, smile fading when he catches sight of the singular picture you have up of jason and ella.

‘i can’t believe you chose to fuck jason of all people.. i mean, i’ve made some shitty decisions in my life but..’ he stops himself from going any further when he sees your face, if looks could kill, he’d be long gone by now.

‘did you come here for a reason? or are you here to talk about my life decisions.. because i really don’t want to hear it from you,’ crossing your arms over your chest, wanting him out of your house.

‘no.. no, shit- i’m sorry,’ he shuffles on his feet, banging his head, ‘i wanna talk.. properly.’

you roll your hand to motion for him to continue, ‘go on..’

he inhales, chewing on the inside of his cheek, trying to psyche himself up to actually say what he wanted to say. it wasn’t that he didn’t know what to say, he just couldn’t string it together to make sense.

‘i’m sorry for the way i treated you.. it wasn’t right and i know that now,’ his hand coming to rub the back of his clammy next, why was your house so fucking hot?

‘okay.. apology accepted, was that everything?’ you say flatly, glancing up the stairs to make sure ella wasn’t awake and out of her room.

his face falls, ‘can you just.. just let me explain,’ his adam apple bobbing as he swallows, ‘why don’t you sit down..’ motioning towards your ratty couch.

you relent your stern stature, hesitantly going to sit on the couch, trying to ensure that he couldn’t possibly sit next to you by sprawling your legs out onto the empty cushion. so he takes the seat furthest away, running his hands down his tight jeans. designer, no less.. the only person you knew stupid enough to spend thousands on designer jeans just to tear holes in them.

‘when i ended things with you, i wasn’t.. well, it was me, but i had my manager screaming in my ear that it’d never work and he could hook me up with some fuckin’ model.. it’d help the band.. so that’s what i did,’ and for once, he looked genuinely remorseful, fiddling with the loose threads on his expensive jeans.

‘so you sold out? that’s your excuse?’

his head shoots up, mouth hung open with absolute disgust all over his face, ‘i am not a sell out.’

which is incredibly refutable, you’d heard a snippet of one of their recent songs on the radio at work and it had sounded exactly like the commercial shit he used to rag on when you were together. not a touch on the corroded coffin you sat and watched practice for hours on end.

‘oh? so you didn’t break up with me to further your career? you just wanted to fuck hot models? which one is it ‘cause i’m a little confused here,’ completely losing it, springing up from your slouched position.

‘okay, yeah.. yeah i did, i broke up with you because i wanted to fuckin’ make something of my life.. and look at where i am and look at-,’

‘-don’t you dare finish that sentence,’ you snap, gritting your teeth together as you near his face, positively shaking with rage.

‘what’re you gonna do? you gonna hit me? do it,’ his chin tilted to match your elevated position, eyes glued to yours.

‘i should.’

his lips twitch into a smirk, ‘you won’t.’

and before your brain has the time to really process your next movements, he balls his fist into your t-shirt, causing your chest to collide into his as his lips smash into yours, knocking the air out of your lungs.

scrambling to find his shoulders for balance, sliding one hand onto his stubbly cheek. it’s all teeth and tongues, he’s ravenous and unrelenting, letting go of his grip on your shirt to place his hands on your hips, ‘move,’ mumbling against your lips as he attempts to manoeuvre you onto his lap while twisting around.

he slides down the couch, keeping a solid hold of your body as you find the right position. your legs are either side of his waist, sliding into the gap between his body and the couch sitting right on his crotch. wasting absolutely zero time in connecting your lips against, honestly not wanting to run the risk of him opening his mouth and ruining this.

his large hands find solace on your ass, creeping up to remove the oversized shirt you’d thrown on. you place your hand above his, restricting him from moving any further. it’s not that you were embarrassed- okay, maybe you were a little. but your body had changed since becoming a mom and eddie had become accustomed to gorgeous models and perfect women that he’d certainly not want to see your boring, frumpy mom body.

he groans in protest, trying again to lift the shirt further only for your fingernails to dig into his hand, ‘no,’ speaking into the filthy kiss.

eddie pulls away from the kiss, fingers coming to gently brush the hair from your face, ‘you can’t be serious? i’ve seen it all before,’ he grumbles, fingers itching to try lift it again.

‘not like this you haven’t.. i just.. want it on, okay?’

‘no- why won’t you let me take this off?’ fingers curling around the hem, already trying his luck with getting it up again.

you sigh, meeting his blown out eyes with your glossy ones, ‘i don’t even know what i’m doing.. fuck,’ attempting to climb off of his lap while the spare hand he has on your ass clamps you down, keeping you pressed to him.

‘hey.. hey, keep it on.. i don’t care,’ already trying to chase your lips, ‘i’m just saying, you don’t need to,’ the denim covering his growing erection starting to rub against your throbbing clit, the sparse material of your pajama shorts were not leaving much to the imagination.

‘jesus christ, just take it off,’ giving up in your protest, it was useless against eddie’s persistence.

you press your lips to his the second your shirt is off, there was no time to judge your body if he couldn’t see it. pulling at his jacket to get it off, the metal buttons digging into your now bare skin.

‘i didn’t.. i didn’t mean.. what i said..’ babbling through the kiss as he shimmies out of the jacket, landing on the floor with a soft thud.

‘shut up,’ you whine, running your hand along the length of his chest until you reach the hem of his black shirt, gripping your fingers around the fabric and lifting it slightly, exposing his midriff, the soft trail of hair ascending the skin.

his head jerks backwards, allowing you to tug the shirt off, finally allowing his eyes to wander to your chest. ‘holy shit,’ he remarks like he’d never seen a pair of tits before. it’s futile for him to pretend that he hadn’t seen some amazing boobs in his time so you scoff, rolling your eyes.

working your hand at his belt buckle, fiddling with the metal until it pops undone. he’s hard already and it makes you groan, brushing your hand over the raised denim. this week seriously must’ve been difficult if he was getting hard so easily over you.

it doesn’t ever occur to you how much of a mistake this was. and even if it did, you didn’t have much time to ponder on it as his hands are grabbing at your breasts, palming them as his lips suck at your jaw and down onto your neck softly. guaranteed to leave a lovely violet mark that the old ladies at work would certainly gasp at.

he’s helping you with his jeans, one hand gripping onto your waist to keep you steady as he lifts his hips from the couch and the other hurriedly yanking them down just enough to reveal his boxers. that’s the next port of call, fingers grabbing at the thin black cotton, pulling them down his thighs as his cock springs into action.

eddie’s lips are still on your neck while you mindlessly wrap your hand around his cock, pumping your fist as you shuffle upwards. his breath hitches in his throat, still peppering sloppy kisses to the sensitive skin.

‘oh god,’ he whines into your collarbone, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your jaw. for a man who had been painted as womaniser in the media, he sure was still just as pathetic as he used to be underneath you.

you’re a little annoyed that it’s you who’s taking control right now. after so many years of disrespect from his end, you think he at least owed it to you to take charge.

your hand grabs onto his shoulder, pulling his face from your neck, ‘be quiet, okay?’ sitting taller to position yourself comfortably, the harsh fabric of the couch grazing your knees.

he nods, sliding his hand up your waist and back to your hip, taking in the sight of you. you wouldn’t ever admit it aloud, but truthfully, you really did miss him sometimes. missed the way his pretty pink lips looked after being glued to yours or the way he gazed at you doing the most mundane tasks.

you cant your hips, sinking down onto his length slowly, biting down onto your bottom lip as his cock fills you to the hilt. his eyelids flicker, fingernails digging into your doughy hips. it’s been a little while since you’d done this so you have to take a second to become accustomed to the slight stretch. it’s good, in the most masochistic way.

your hands cling onto his shoulders, watching his slack jaw, tiny breaths escaping from his mouth as you attempt to move. painstakingly slow at first, knees beginning to shake as you try to remember what you should even be doing. your cheeks flushing, feeling so incredibly embarrassed. the man was fucking models and then you’re here, pitifully trying to ride him. it’s awful, you know it’s awful.

his arm comes to snake around your waist, taking matters into his own hands and flipping the two of you around, your back suddenly pressed into the couch. holy shit. you appreciate the initiative, wrapping your legs around his waist, readjusting your grip on his shoulders.

‘need you a little faster than that darling,’ large hands digging into the couch either side of your head. you’d feel utterly mortified if you weren’t thoroughly enjoying the sight of him looming over you, his hair falling beautifully into your face.

eddie starts slow at first, moving his hips slowly, obviously well versed. your mouth opens but no noise escapes, well aware that you weren’t the only ones in your house. instead you pant softly, desperate for his lips to grace yours again.

it’s not long before he’s quickening his pace, unable to contain himself when you feel so perfect around him. ‘i missed you- fuck, i’ve missed you so much,’ he groans, keeping his voice low despite wanting to start screaming.

you don’t reply, too fucked-out to even think about words. eyes drooping as his cock nudges against the soft spongy spot no one other than him had been able to reach.

the couch creaks beneath you, the old thing unable to keep up with his rutting hips, the top of your head knocking into the arm rest every time his hips collided with yours. your living room had never bore witness to such filth and as quiet as you were trying to be, the sounds are indistinguishable.

having to bite down onto your lip when his thumb meets your clit, legs tightening around his waist with every soft circle he draws around the sensitive bud. eddie was never bad in bed but holy shit, maybe money had done something right for him.

he sits up, soft sighs falling out of his lips as his hand disconnects from your clit, sliding toward your knee and positioning your leg onto his shoulder. your nails press into his forearm, willing yourself to stay quiet even now he’s seemingly trying to kill you.

and through it all, he’s smirking. relishing the way you’re writhing around, trying not to cum when he nudges against that sweet, spongy spot this position allowed.

his thumb finds your clit again, ‘holy shit sweetheart.. you gonna cum?’ grunting softly with every thrust.

you’re positively wrecked beneath him, face pressed into the couch cushion as your stomach flips. panting into the fabric, incoherent ramblings of eddie’s name and a bunch of curse words fill the room.

‘cum for me baby.. shit,’ struggling to keep his own pace as you tighten around him, leg trembling around his neck as your orgasm takes over. pleasure overtaking your limbs as your hips buck instinctively, thankfully muffled by the couch.

‘oh my god,’ you breathe, struggling to see straight when your eyes eventually reopen, gazing up at eddie above, certain he’s about to draw blood from his teeth digging in to his lip.

‘where.. where shall i- shit,’ he squeezes out, feeling his hips begin to stutter, eyes rolling to the back of his head. he’s just about quick enough to pull out, thick ropes of cum paint your thighs. narrowly avoiding the couch.

if you had the energy to get annoyed, you would’ve snapped, but in all honesty, your brain was still reeling and anger was the last thing you felt.

eddie reaches over, ever the gentleman and grabs his shirt to clean his mess. didn’t matter to him obviously, he had more than enough money to buy another.

and there it is. the bitterness filling your body again the second he’s no longer on top of you, or inside of you rather. you attempt to bite it down.

‘you wanna talk now?’ he asks, pulling his boxers back up to a more respectable position.

‘i’m tired eddie,’ and you are, on a school night like tonight you’d have been fast asleep by now.

he sighs, shoulders slumping over. even after you’d just had the most mind-altering sex, you couldn’t speak to him. ‘please,’ pleading with you almost, desperate for one more chance.

maybe it’s the exhaustion or maybe the dopamine still pumping through your brain but you concede, pulling your shirt back over your head before motioning for him to speak.

‘i don’t have any excuses, i’m just-,’ he sighs, turning on the couch to face you fully, ‘i’m sorry for hurting you, i was wrong and i know that,’ his eyes are dipped, peering at you from underneath his spindly lashes, ‘why d’you think i’ve avoided this place for so long?’

‘i don’t know? because you’re a pussy? because you’re too scared to face me?’ letting the words rattle off your tongue without much thought.

‘because i’m embarrassed,’ he corrects, without much offence, ‘because i’m ashamed and feel like i owe you more than some dick and a shitty apology.. i just didn’t know how i could ever make it up to you,’ half-moon eyes glossy in the low light.

your heart thumps in your chest, blood echoing through your ears. eddie munson, world renowned rockstar was sat on your couch, apologising for something you should’ve forgotten about a long time ago.

the years of hatred and avoidance come tumbling down in a millisecond. all you’d ever wanted was to hear him say sorry. to admit that he’d fucked you over for a life of fame and now you had it, you weren’t exactly sure what to even do with it.

‘okay.. now what? are you gonna make it up to me? because i want to believe you eddie, i do.. but you can’t just traipse in here and expect me to forgive you like that,’ the tears roll over, sliding down your warm cheeks.

he nods, grabbing onto your hands in a last ditch gesture to show his sincerity, ‘i’m going to.. i-i want to,’ he’s still nodding, bringing his face closer to yours, ‘tell me how, i’ll do anything,’ adam’s apple bobbing with every word.

‘stay here,’ your eyes are trained on him, ignoring the blurred vision, ‘not forever, just for now,’ lips pursed, ready to be broken once more.

you half-expect him to come out with some sorry excuse, tell you he had to get back to his hotel so he couldn’t possible stay here.

but he doesn’t.

eddie takes your hand, tugging it gently and with words you don’t register, babbles something about bed. so you follow him, allowing him to guide you to your room and slide in between the sheets next to you.

everything is so gentle, soft and pure. something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

-

‘hey.. sweetheart,’ eddie’s hand gently shakes your arm, whispering into your ear, ‘you awake?’

you squint in the dim light, feeling his hand descend onto your waist, chest pressed against your back, ‘i am now,’ you grumble, it was early.. early even by ella’s standards.

‘i gotta go.. you got work today?’ he asks, making no effort to actually get up and leave your bed though.

you nod into the pillow, rubbing your sleep heavy eyes. in your sleep hazed state, you shuffle, moving backwards against him.

‘okay.. shit- don’t do that,’ strained as you shift against him, unknowingly brushing against his cock, ‘i’ll be back.. after you..’ he’s losing it a little now, ‘after you finish..’ lips pressed to your ear.

you were moving deliberately now, just ever-so-slightly rocking your hips back and forth, you could feel him growing against your ass.

‘i can’t..’ he groans, grip tightening on your hip,

‘please,’ you breathe, reaching backwards to find his mop of curls, taking a fistful for leverage as his own hip’s thrust into your backside, his low growls only spurring you on.

you had been on your own for so long now, could he really blame you?

eddie doesn’t leave for another hour, creeping out of your house with his head low and a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

-

the key turns in your door as you’re loading the dishwasher. you’d given steve a spare for emergencies but it seemed to get used for anything but.

he slinks into the kitchen where you stand with your back to him, ‘hey,’ already knowing who it was.

‘well hello,’ announcing his presence, something about his tone of voice already seemed off, he sounded short, annoyed almost, ‘how have you been?’

‘i’m good..’ you spin to face him, puzzled by his strange demeanour, ‘how are you?’

he’s holding onto something behind his back but you can’t quite catch a glimpse, ‘actually.. i’m a little pissed off,’ you can tell he’s not completely serious by the hint of a smile on his face.

‘hmm? why’s that?’

he looks around the room expectedly, ‘oh i don’t know.. you don’t have anything to tell me, do you?’ shaking his head, still gripping onto this mystery object.

‘no..’ narrowing your eyes, determining whether he knew what you thought he knew.

he did, he one hundred percent did. holy fuck. he’d figured you out already. eddie had opened his big, stupid mouth and told dustin, who would’ve told steve and god knows who else. fucking moron.

‘no? soo..’ his pulls the magazine from behind his back, flipping it to the page he’d already saved, ‘this isn’t real then?’ shoving the glossy pages into your face, ‘because to me.. this looks an awful lot like eddie.. at this very house,’ he jabs his finger at the pixelated image, ‘and this little blob here.. that’s you, no?’

you’re utterly gobsmacked. mouth hung open in pure shock. because that most definitely was eddie.. and your house.. and you. you hadn’t seen anyone with a camera, hell, you hadn’t seen anyone on the street at all.

‘and correct me if i’m wrong, but is this not our friend eddie leaving your house the next morning?’ showing the next image of him leaving your house the day after, hair unruly and messed up, holding his denim jacket in his arms as he climbs into his car.

your mouth moves but no words come out, croaking as you struggle to meet steve’s eyes. completely speechless, there was no feasible excuse. you had been caught with your pants down. literally.

‘i can explain,’ waving your hands around while steve stands smug against the kitchen counter. ‘..no i can’t,’ shoulders slumped as you blink at your best friend, no you really couldn’t. suppose you could’ve come up with some lie about a look-a-like you’d been seeing but that would’ve made you look particularly strange.

‘were you ever gonna tell me?’ he’s almost hurt that you hadn’t ran to him to tell him immediately. this was true best friend gossip and you’d kept him from it.

‘i was! steve.. i don’t even know what happened- he came over to apologise and then we were arguing and then.. then we had sex and it’s not my fault..’ you’re trying, and failing, to contain your smile, flashing your cheeky grin to your best friend in the hopes he would let this slide.

‘i can’t believe you didn’t tell me!’ jutting his bottom lip out, ‘so, you’re getting back together?’ his eyes sceptical yet sparkling with a sense of hope. you’re grateful that all he seems to care about is the fact you lied. or actually, withheld the truth as you preferred it.

‘no.. well.. no, we had dinner together yesterday and he might’ve stayed over but no..’ shaking your head, ‘he’s leaving again soon and we both know what happened last time..’ you shrug, leaning back against the counter, ‘i guess i don’t hate him now, that’s good isn’t it?’

steve looks perplexed, ‘wait wait wait.. so you’re just.. screwing around? and then he leaves again, that’s it? what’s the point?’ taking a seat at the small kitchen table, fully engrossed in the conversation.

‘i dunno.. i guess that’s it?’ you hadn’t really thought about the fact that he’d be leaving again, in fact, you hadn’t really had time to think much at all about what was happening.

you’d just sort of acknowledged that at some point he’d go back to california and you’d stay here and whatever was happening would.. end? it wasn’t as if you were going to be super upset about it like you once were. lots of people fuck their ex’s.. this was fine.

because that’s what this is, right?

just sex with an ex?

‘that’s it?’ steve reiterates, looking completely flabbergasted that the woman who once left the room whenever eddie munson’s name was mentioned was now being so casual about this.

‘yeah,’ you shrug, not wanting to make a massive deal out of it though you could always rely on steve to be over dramatic on your behalf.

‘no,’ he straightens up in the chair, ‘all of this can’t be for nothing,’ sounding utterly exasperated, ‘you two obviously belong together so why don’t you go for it? i could see you living it up out in la.. big house, big car-,’

you cut him off before he can divulge into his delusions any further, ‘i think you’re getting ahead of yourself steve,’ shaking your head at his ludicrous attitude.

you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it once or twice but it seemed silly to start imagining this crazy life together after all these years. he’d barely just made it into your good graces again, you were hardly going to run off to california with him. it was utter delusion.

‘okay okay..’ he scoffs, ‘but i still think you need to talk to him. i don’t want you getting hurt again, okay? just make sure that you’re both on the same page,’ nodding as he stands from his seat and begins to rummage through your cupboards for something to eat.

he was probably right and you knew it deep down. you weren’t keen on being the one to bring the conversation up, not after that first night. after you had sobbed in his arms in bed, letting him soothe you to sleep with a bunch of probable empty promises.

-

when eddie lets himself into your house a few hours later, steve’s eyebrows fly up his forehead but he doesn’t say a word. instead, he nods at the man, keeping his opinions to himself.

the pair of you resemble an old married couple, except you’re the grumpy old man with your wife cuddled into your side. your wife being steve that is.

‘oh.. is this uh, something that happens often?’ eddie asks, settling into the empty chair across from you. slightly miffed that steve was nestled into your side.

‘yup,’ you nod, smiling at him your chin resting on steve’s head. he hadn’t a reason to be jealous, you’d really rather poke your eyeballs out with a fork than do anything remotely sexual with steve.

‘right.. yeah okay,’ eddie says, looking perplexed but sitting back in the chair. if he was going to stick around then this would have to be something that he got used to. because you sure as hell weren’t going to stop being so close with steve for the guy that broke your heart at eighteen.

‘you want a drink?’ you ask, realising that you should probably be a good host even if it was only eddie.

‘yeah sure.’

you untangle yourself from steve and trundle off into the kitchen. steve takes this as the perfect opportunity to grill eddie on his intentions, sitting up straight and making sure that you were really gone before beginning his interrogation.

‘so.. you two?’

eddie shrugs, not wanting to get into it with steve after such a long day.

steve sighs, leaning toward eddie, ‘i’m gonna say this once.. but if you hurt her again, i will kill you,’ staring the other man down. contempt in his eyes. he was dead serious too.

‘i’m not- i’m not gonna hurt her,’ eddie sits up, praying that you’d hurry back with this damn drink.

‘i mean it eddie,’ raising his eyebrows, ‘you didn’t see how she was after you left.. i’m not going through that again, i’m not letting her go through that again.’

‘steve-,’ eddie blinks, stopping himself as you re-enter the room. hoping that you hadn’t heard their conversation, he’d only just got you to stop hating him. he wasn’t prepared to go back to that like, ever.

‘what’re you talking about?’ placing the bottle of beer in front of eddie and collapsing back into your spot on the couch.

‘football,’ steve answers quickly, groaning as he pushes himself off of the sofa, ‘i’m gonna head home, got work in the morning but i’ll see you tomorrow,’ he smiles, winking at you from above.

‘okay,’ you utter, sounding more like a question than a statement, watching carefully as he gathers his things without so much as a glance at eddie. you can only imagine what was actually said but that was truly none of your business.

you’d just grill eddie later to make sure steve hasn’t been too much of an asshole.

‘byee,’ you call out behind him, already eyeing a sheepish eddie. this’d probably be it. you’d known it was coming at some point, you just weren’t sure of when.

if steve’s sudden departure was anything to go off, you were probably right.

the door clicks shut and you turn your attention to eddie who was still sat on the solemn chair. oh god. maybe you had got a little used to having him around again and now to know that it’d all be coming to an abrupt end once again.. yeah you felt a tad shit.

‘what’d you say?’ you ask outright, it made zero sense to beat around the bush.

‘me?’ he looks almost offended, ‘i didn’t say shit.. didn’t get the chance to,’ but he’s smiling ever so slightly and your heart relaxes.

christ you were so stupid. letting him back into your life just to let him walk away a second time. perhaps you’d done something horrific in a past life to deserve this same fate twice.

‘so what did he say?’ you press, unsure of if your even wanted the answer.

eddie sighs before coming to collapse on the couch next to you, ‘it wasn’t important.. look, i wanna be honest with you,’ his hand comes to grab yours and you freeze, bracing yourself for what was inevitably going to come next. ‘you mean a lot to me and.. and i don’t want you to think that i don’t care or that i’m just leaving you again,’ his eyes are focussed on yours, full of what you hope is sincerity.

you don’t reply, instead you nod slightly and urge him to continue. this was it. the kicker. 

‘i’ve gotta go back to la next week,’ his grip tightens around your hand, ‘but i’m coming back as soon as i can, okay?’ he’s serious too and you’d like to believe him but if the past was anything to go by, you weren’t eager.

you nod silently. fuck this. once again, you were sat before eddie munson, listening to his plans to jet off to la. it felt like the cruelest case of deja-vu. if anything, you want to kick yourself for even allowing him to wiggle his way back into your heart. most people know better after the first time.

‘it’s three weeks.. maybe a month, but i’m coming back, i promise,’ he pleads, hanging his head low. he knows there’s absolutely nothing he could say to you that would make you believe him but he had to try.

you hum, frowning just a little before finally replying, ‘i’ve heard that before,’ not meaning to sound as snarky as you did, but it was true.

‘i’m serious, i’m not.. not gonna lose you again, i’ve learnt my lesson,’ his eyes are big and pleading and you’re thrown right back to being eighteen, listening to him convince you how going to la would be the best decision.

‘so.. what? you’re gonna come back to hawkins just to see me? i don’t-,’ you sigh, as much as you wanted to believe him, it just wasn’t plausible in your mind, ‘i just don’t understand, are we together or are you just coming back to fuck? you don’t have to, you know? i’ve made peace with it all and i’m fine.. you don’t have to lie to me anymore.’

if anyone was going to fuck this up, it would be you. that’s for certain.

‘what the fuck?’ he exclaims, genuinely flabbergasted, ‘this is me telling you that i’m serious about this.. about you,’ he takes your hand into his properly, scooting around to face you fully, ‘i love being here with you, and ella and there is nothing out in la worth more than this,’ you think he might just start crying, or you might. or perhaps both of you.

you sniff, not wanting to speak in fear of bursting into hysterics. it was all just so confusing and weird. you’d grown accustomed to eddie being on the other side of the country and now suddenly he was back in your life with what seemed like a a declaration of love. it was just too much to handle. and maybe you blame yourself a little, for not truly thinking about the implications of fucking your ex that had abandoned you years prior. but now it all just seemed to be hurtling in the most intense direction.

you were the one that had told him to stay after all. because really, you could’ve kicked him out, refused to ever even acknowledge him again. but you hadn’t.

‘are you telling me the truth?’ is all that you manage to squeak out. baring resemblance to a small child.

you really must’ve looked pathetic, eyes brimming with tears, bottom lip quivering as you hold in the implosion of emotions. it’s always scary being vulnerable with someone, let alone someone that once meant so much to you.

he still did. as much as you’re absolutely petrified to admit it, he’d weaselled his way back into your heart and now here you are, a mess of emotions and perplexing feelings that are too complicated to handle.

‘i promise you,’ he sighs, clearly fed up of your whining, ‘i’m coming back this time.’

and maybe you’re stupid. maybe you’re still hung up on some high school relationship that ended long ago but you can’t help it, you nod.

idiotically believing him because what else can you do after letting him into your home and your heart again.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

LET THEM FEAST

This piece was inspired by this Mickey Mouse cartoon as well as this early episode from Spongebob.

So tell me, do you wanna go?

The cafeteria doors parted, swinging open as any other door would—but to Fellow and Gidel, it was as if the gates to heaven were welcoming them. Humming chatter and the smells of delicious foods churned out from beyond. Deeply inhaling, tasting the aromas in the back of one’s throat, made their bodies light and floaty, as if hunger had made them weightless.

They followed a hoard of uniformed boys with trays, drifting to buffet stations loaded with dishes they could only dream of. Slabs of roast beef dripping with mushroom gravy, racks od lamb, game birds with crisped skin, fish glistening with herb butter, steaming stews with vegetables bobbing in a sea of rich broth, fluffy rice, cakes sliced wide and trifles stacked tall. The paper-thin slice of bread and beans they had for supper had never looked quite so sorry.

Gidel didn’t notice that his mouth was agape and slick with saliva until a cane tucked under his chin and closed it for him. Fellow pulled the young boy close, a hand on his arm as he wildly gestured to the waiting delicacies.

“Take a gander, Giddie! All that food’s free and ours for the taking!!” he chirped. “Ready your fork and knife, we’re going to eat like kings today!”

Arm in arm, the duo dove into the bar, grabbing as much as they reasonably could. Generous scoops of mashed potato, the biggest pieces of meat, plenty of sauce, the largest loaves. Gidel rushed about with an apple crammed into his mouth and Fellow snuck oyster crackers into his breast pocket (as a late-night snack).

While their plates piled higher and higher, the mob students grew more irritable. Elbowing them out of the way, snatching up popular itwms, and taking far more than their share had the tendency to invoke ire. The mobs casted dirty looks at Fellow and Gidel, others raising their voices at the kitchen.

“Oi, where’s the refill of tomato soup? I’ve been waitin’ for forever over here!”

“When’re the dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggies gonna be done…”

“I’m so hungry I could eat a whole horse. What’s the damn hold up?!”

“Be patient, boys!” a ghost chef callee back. He grunted as he hailed a vat of curry off of the stove. “It takes time to prepare the food.”

“They’re ravenous today,” remarked the lead chef. “Wonder what’s going on. We normally don’t have to prepare this much.”

By this time, Fellow (trailed by Gidel) had pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He set down his tray (the tower of food upon it wobbling, threatening to collapse) and waved enthusiastically at the chefs.

“Afternoon, gents! How’s it going? Looks to me like you’re hard at work feeding all these wayward souls.”

“Oh, um. Just fine, thank you.” The head chef blinked. He liked to think that he recognized all of the students and staff that came into his dining room, but he was drawing a total blank with Fellow and Gidel. “Er… Sorry, are you new around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you boys before.”

“Fufu, that’s right. We’re new to these parts.”

“They ain’t even students,” an angry mob student behind him piped up.

The lead chef startled. Worry crumples his round, marshamallowy face. “Oh dear, not students? The buffet is only open to them and staff.” He glanced at Fellow’s pickings. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to return all that.”

Anger and annoyance shot through the fox beastman. Tch…! Those NRC brats, looking down on me! Why should they get to gorge themselves on this stuff while the rest of us beg for their scraps?!

He reached down and gripped Gidel’s hand, giving the young boy a reassuring squeeze. Gidel offered a sleepy grin back.

Watch this. I’ll turn this entire situation around and have them eating out of the palm of my hand.

He let out a theatrical gasp, then summoned his most charming smile. “My bad, I forgot to introduce myself! You see, I am a health inspector sent by the Department of Magic Education to evaluate your menu! Gidel here’s my trusty assistant.”

The leader of the ghost chefs scratched his head. “Huh? Is that what a health inspector does…?”

“Of course, or cooourse! All a part of the job description, my friend.” Fellow indicated his absurd amount of food. “They’re looking to implement new standards for magic school menus—and where better to look at as a model for reference than THE famous Night Raven College? The education it offers is elite, so the meals it offers must be elite as well! That’s why they’ve sent us to try one of everything, to evaluate the quality of your wares.”

Gidel bobbed his head. (He had little clue what he was actually agreeing with, but he agreed nevertheless.)

“Come ON, you don’t seriously buy this crap, do you?” a mob student groaned. “The old fart’s clearly lying!!”

Other voices joined him, but they all fell upon deaf ears. The head chef’s eyes sparkled, his pasty white cheeks rosy with excitement.

“Oooooh, why didn’t you say so sooner?! W-We will absolutely do everything in our power to accommodate your needs, Sir Health Inspector!” He turned to his kitchen staff. “Isn’t this so exciting, everyone? We’ll be the first group of ghosts to receive a fancy accolade after death!”

A murmur of approval weaved through the kitchen. The dining room, however, erupted into a fresh round of protests.

“You’re joking!!”

“That’s such an obvious lie.”

“How can you believe that bullcrap?!”

Keheheh, never underestimate the power of this Fellow Honest-sama’s silver tongue 🎶 I didn’t even need to use my unique magic to cut to the front of the line. Some people are just born suckers and stay suckers in the afterlife.

He smirked, giving a triumphant twirl of his cane. “Sorry, folks! You snooze, you lose. We get first dibs on everything~”

“Hah?! What’d ya just say to me?” A vein bulged on a Savanaclaw student’s forehead. He was about double Fellow’s width and rippling with muscle. “Like hell you are!”

“The way you talk is pissin’ me off!!” chimed in a Diasomnia student. He drew his baton and aimed it at Fellow. “I oughta shut you up for good!”

The idea was a seed, taking root and festering among his peers. Other students were producing their own magical pens, out of pockets and from inside vests.

Fellow paled, balking but keeping himself between the mobs and Gidel. “H-Hey now, can’t we talk this over? Violence doesn’t solve everything, you know!”

“YES IT DOES,” the mobs retorted—in unison for once. Hungry and angry, a terrible combination.

Gidel whimpered. No sound, but Fellow could sense it in the way the boy retreated into his coat. A free hand found its way to the small of Gidel’s back, keeping him upright.

Don’t let them see you like that. Weak, downtrodden. It’s letting them have the moral victory.

His grin widened. He was a fox looking to sink his teeth into unsuspecting prey.

“Why spend your youth grumpy and causing trouble? You should lighten up, live a little, laugh a little. Here, I’ll show you how. Just follow me! Come on to the Theater!! Life is Fun!!”

Fellow spun his cane, releasing a light shower of sparkles upon the crowd. They floated down, popping like popping on their skin. Eyes glazed over, twisted expressions slackened.

“Now then!!” Fellow, raised his cane like a baton, still spinning as he conducted his herd. He, poised as the ringleader. “Right this way, right this way, gentlemen! Let’s have a lively parade to the courtyard on this fine day!”

“The weather is nice today…”

“Coach said I need to get more exercise in.”

“I’ve been stressed about classes, I need to take this break.”

Marching—one, two, one, two—Fellow led the procession out of the cafeteria. He belted out a tune as he ushered students through the exit.

“Hi-diddle-dee-dee, actor's life for me!”

(Gidel pranced in and out of the line of students, reaching into pockets and retrieving miscellaneous items. Pencils, a keychain, spare change. He stashed them under his hat.)

“A high silk hat and a silver cane, a watch of gold with a diamond chain!”

When the last student was gone, Fellow made a U-turn and rushed back into the cafeteria, slamming the doors behind him. He dropped his smile, letting it shatter like a porcelain teacup and not bothering to salvage the remains.

“Sheesh, they’re finally out of my fur!” Fellow sighed deeply. “Those rotten kids really had to make me work hard for my meal...”

Gidel scrambled over to him, pulling out the various items he had clumsily pilfered. Look what I got! he seemed to say.

Fellow brightened, ruffling the child’s messy brown mop. “Atta boy, Giddie! We sure showed those snooty rich kids what for, eh?”

At that moment, the head chef bursted out of the kitchen juggling a tray of apple strudel. He was followed by several other ghosts, each carrying a new dish.

“Sorry for the wait, here’s the… Huh?” The head chef glanced around the nearly empty cafeteria, his brows knitting. “Where did everybody go?”

“Must’ve gone out for a stroll Fine by me, they’re letting us get right down to business,” Fellow laughed, clapping a hand on Gidel’s shoulder. “C’mon, that’s enough excitement for one day. Let’s dig in!”

[too-antigonish]

My Strange but Unified Theory of Exeunt

Last week I talked about the poem Horatio in a post about Morse and fathers and @astridcontramundum asked what I thought it meant in the context of Exeunt. Hopefully she won't be sorry she asked because here's my (as usual) long answer:

Horatio is quoted from twice in Exeunt. The first time, Prof. Fortescue is lecturing to his students at a tutorial and gives us the most famous lines:  

Then out spake brave Horatius, The Captain of the Gate:  "To every man upon this earth death cometh soon or late. And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds For the ashes of his fathers And the temples of his gods?"

The second time occurs just before Thursday’s has his “turn” in the same spot where Morse will many years later experience his own collapse. He says: ”’How well Horatius kept the bridge in the brave days of old.’ We'd a padre big on that out in the desert. Drumhead service just before Alamein. ‘And how can man die better than facing fearful odds?’ Always stuck with me.”

I think they used those lines to plainly tease the idea that Thursday was going to die. Prior to Exeunt airing, almost everyone thought Thursday would have to die in order to explain Morse’s never mentioning him again in the future. When Fortescue says those lines in the beginning, I think we’re supposed to think that someone—probably Thursday—is going to die heroically. Then Thursday repeats some of the poem—connecting it to his WWII service—just before he has his “spell” and it seems like more foreshadowing. 

The thing about the poem though, that most people *don’t* know, is that the big surprise at the end is that Horatio *doesn’t* die. It just looks like he will: Even when his companions have abandoned the bridge because it is on the verge of collapse, Horatius remains. He stays until bridge finally does fail, and then plunges into the river below with the full weight of his armor. It is certain death and both sides stand stunned into silence by his final sacrifice.

But then, both sides find themselves even more surprised when they see the crest of his helmet beginning to rise from the water and he slowly emerges, striding towards the Roman bank. He not only survives, but arrives home to a hero’s welcome and a long life.

All of the usual narrative pieces are in place for us to expect Thursday to make the ultimate sacrifice—to die. For me, Thursday—like Horatio—does sacrifice everything, but the poem was actually foreshadowing his survival, not his death. And for Thursday, his survival is in many ways a far more difficult sacrifice than death would have been. It would have been easier for him in so many ways if he had died in defense of Sam or even fighting Lott. Instead he has to live with the ambiguous and messy aftermath.

Morse could also be Horatio in the sense that he goes to Blenheim Vale facing a high probability of death. What were the chances that the bikers would “come through” for him? That Morse went expecting to be double-crossed and killed by Lott seems much more likely to me. But I do think that Morse, like Horatio, would reason that, “If you’re going to go, then there’s no better way than defending the things that are most important to you,” and so he goes anyway.

He survives too—but unlike Horatio, his heroism will always remain a secret *and* with his realization about Thursday’s guilt and Lott’s revelation about Tomahawk’s identity, it brings perhaps more sorrow than it does victory. And, I would argue that his survival is only temporary or perhaps partial.

The gunshot scene has many possible interpretations, but at its core, my (forever unprovable) theory is that it balances out the survival foreshadowed by Horatio. Horatio was all about the audience assuming that Thursday had to die. But along with that went the assumption that of course Endeavour had to live. This is a prequel after all.

But the gunshot scene said a big, loud, “No. We can kill off Endeavour if we want to and we will.” You can go back and forth until the cows come home about whether or not the scene was simply him contemplating death, actually going through with it, or absolutely, purely symbolic and imaginative. However, I don’t think you can honestly argue that the scene doesn’t somehow connect the concepts of  “Endeavour Morse,” “gun,” and “death” to each other. Somehow those concepts have to be included in any interpretation.

So this leads to my weird theory about Exeunt, which is that Russ Lewis heard everyone saying, “Well I don’t know what’s going to happen in the end, but of course we all know that Morse is going to live—so no suspense there. And Thursday, well, he has to die. I mean it’s the only way to explain why we never hear about him later.” And to this, Russ Lewis thought, “Ha! I’m going to do exactly the opposite. Thursday lives and Morse dies!” 

Am I right? I will never know. Do I have more thoughts on Exeunt? You really, really don't want to know just how many.

[grimbanes]

Apple with Cinnamon. (3rd person pov).

Summary: Kaz Brekker x Healer!GN! reader - Y/N, amidst the chaos of a heist gone wrong, stumbles upon an injured Kaz Brekker, bleeding out rapidly in a dingy alleyway and choking on his words. They waste no time doing everything they can to keep him alive; neither knew why they did because kindness was a luxury nobody could afford in Ketterdam.

WC: 3k

TW: kaz's boundaries being pushed, mentions of his touch aversion, lots of blood and violence, somewhat heavy descriptions of wounds, panic attacks, usual six of crows warnings. sorry kazzy.

A/N: i wrote this in one sitting after thinking about how Y/N is always getting injured in heists. why not have it be reversed? kaz is stubborn. it's not proof read, we die like muzzen. im tempted to make another part but both can be read as stand alone pieces but this one can be read as strangers to friends or love interest, up to the reader.

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Desperation wasn’t in Y/N’s vocabulary. It was not something that crossed their mind. Desperation meant admitting to weakness and weakness cost you in the Barrel. Desperation meant needing someone and that was the last thing you wanted even if you were just roaming the streets of Ketterdam; ironically enough, desperation was the only word to describe the situation the Dregs seemed to have found themselves in. Just how was Y/N going to save Kaz ‘Dirtyhands’ Brekker from bleeding out all over the floor, possible concussion or worse, physical touch. They really didn’t want to lose their fingers for crowding his space.

Just how had they found themselves in an alleyway with the cruellest crime boss to crawl out of the harbour at this hour? Y/N could only stare at the man’s slouched figure against the wall, his infamous crow-headed cane laid across the floor beside his leg that caused his uneven walk. Blood dripped down the side of his face, his lips pulled into a grim downwards turn, that much they could see as they approached the hunched figure - his discomfort didn’t go unnoticed as he grit his teeth, barely conscious, hand pressed to a wound on his side and breathing desperately erratic. His fancy garb stained a delicate hue of rose and it was most definitely a shame. 

“Excuse me,” Y/N’s voice called out softly, almost wishing to blow away with the cool evening breeze when more explosions thundered through the damp streets hailed by shrieking and gunfire echoing down abandoned lanes in the darkness of the evening. “Do you need help?”

The Bastard of the Barrel’s eyes barely flitted over to them, a wince strewn along the tired creases of his shadowed face, sparing a begrudging glance and not long after, there was a revolver pointed directly at Y/N’s chest. They still approached, even as the leader of the Dregs pulled down the hammer on his gun and barely mumbled something to them. It sounded almost like a ‘don’t touch me’. But they could see the way his hand trembled, pale fingers peeking through crimson streams and it was reminiscent of a DeKeppal oil.

“Please, I can help you, Mister Brekker,” They tried again, stepping closer until they stood over him. Y/N lowered their wicker basket, shopping long forgotten with the sudden emergency. They really did not know why they were showing the man kindness… they just had to. Nobody deserved to have that expression tearing them apart at the seams. 

Truthfully, they did not like to use their power. It was too risky, too exposed, especially in Ketterdam. Y/N didn’t want to spend the rest of their life fighting for an army that meant little to them. They didn’t see the reward in healing hostages or fixing generals that treated them poorly or assisting sick royals who ate too much and drank their weight in fine wines. Better to stay hidden - that was until Kaz Brekker had collapsed in the alleyway only a few street turns from their home, stumbling mere steps from an explosion that had knocked him off of already unsteady feet. 

“Go,” He mumbled, sweat beading up his brow and arm dropping, clearly not perceiving Y/N as a threat. For some reason, his gaze glanced to the exit behind them, but they didn’t mind that. Instead they got to their knees and rolled up the sleeves of their work shirt, tucking it around the elbow.

“You’re losing blood, Brekker. I’m not military trained but I’ll do my best,” They sincerely promised and connected their hands, closing their eyes and tapping into that Small Science that caused them grief daily, dulled their skin with lack of use and made them unable to stomach food on many days, even when they walked past food carts selling all manners of treats.

“I don’t want your science, I have business-” Brekker hissed, fingers trembling against the wound in his side and he gasped quietly, schooling his gaze as he panted in laboured breath after wheezing breath, stony eyes staring through sweat-covered strands of ebony. “To finish.”

Y/N didn’t listen as they concentrated as best they could given their surroundings. They tried to ignore the yelling of commands, the subtle gunfire, the many men and women skittering around for a place to hide. Luckily none dared such down that little alley that they had both tucked into. They pulled at skin, searching the bleeding man’s body and frowning as they realised they needed to be closer. They shuffled into his space, dropping one knee to the ground beside the man’s hand, careful not to kneel on his cane and carefully hovered their hands over the wound he was clutching with one hand, the other limp at his side now that he had dropped his gun. 

They searched the wound, pulling the flesh at its very edges and willing it to pull closed, only to flinch upon the discovery of shrapnel lodged in his side and slowly edging deeper, daring to almost knick his lung and wedge itself there. Y/N would not let that happen - certainly not now, it would look as if they had intentionally killed Kaz Brekker and that was a bounty they certainly did not want over their head. 

“Brekker, listen to me, Brekker,” They pleaded, wanting to turn his head to face him when his head lolled to the side, eyelids fluttering and his breathing shallow, the shadows beneath his eyes deepening with every passing second that you didn’t do something. “I need you awake, stay with me. Talk to me about anything. Tell me about your favourite book, your favourite song. What’s your favourite kind of food?” 

Y/N’s voice seemed to do the trick, the unsteady, glossy gaze of the most notorious gang boss watching their hands as they moved to unbutton his waistcoat, trembling fingers pulling it open and his breathing only fastened, his chest heaving, eyes flickering from the hands to their face, jaw tensing and tongue seemingly heavy in his mouth.

“The Pale Library. Kruge being dropped on my desk. Apple pie,” Kaz began to list, a rasping voice that was heavy, grating and flinching away as sweat began to drip and mix with the river of cardinal staining his alabaster skin. 

The Barrel boss’ taste in book had Y/N smiling to themself as they unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it aside and coming face to face with the deep, large gash along the man’s abdomen, just slightly to the side and lucky just beneath a lung. Hopefully it stayed that way, despite his hunched posture most definitely pushing the metal closer and closer. They didn’t know if they had the skill to save him if it punctured his lung. He’d either drown in his own blood or bleed out. Either way, they were determined to help him. 

“So you like fairy tales? Is that apple with cinnamon?” They asked as they cringed for a moment, trying to keep him distracted as they dug their finger and thumb into the open wound that continued to seep and pour all over them, red staining every bit of their skin. They were not sure if it would even wash off. If this night would ever wash off. They continued to feel inside the wound, trying to feel for the metal shard, using their ability as best as they could but they could not soothe like a heartrender could. 

Kaz trembled beneath them, deadly silent and shaking, shivering so much that he might as well have fallen into the harbour and caught a chill. He gasped, hands limp at his side and head dropping back down, unable to keep himself afloat. Y/N pulled the shrapnel messily from the wound and dropped it between them, immediately setting to work on sealing the worst of it. It would take time. It might take too long. No. It was fine. He was healing faster than they anticipated. 

Y/N dared to steal a glance away from the closing wound to check up on the man’s face only to realise he had passed out, cheeks deathly pale and reminiscent of a ghost. 

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They couldn’t believe that they had just dragged Dirtyhands through the Barrel, arms distressed where they had been hooked beneath his shoulders, his legs and heels dragging across the slick cobble in the dead of night as the fight began to cease, Stadwatch barking orders and hunting down anyone they could find in the streets. They were both lucky that they’d been able to drag him out of that alley just before it had been stormed. Y/N kept Brekker’s revolver clutched in their hand as they dragged him, cane tucked awkwardly in their wicker basket that was dangling awkwardly from their elbow. If he knew of it, he was sure he’d have their head for putting such a stain on his reputation.

He’d remained unconscious even as the healer dragged his still body three blocks, dozens of turns, only stirring when they had begged him to tell Y/N where to go. The mumbling of ‘the Slat’ was all they got before his eyelids twitched and his head dropped forward again, hair in his stupid face and arms as limp and useless as the rest of him. 

“Stupid Bastard of the Barrel. I don’t even know you, I don’t even like you. You’re a criminal, a thief, a murderer, a con artist. You’re one cruel son of a bitch and I still couldn’t just mind my damn business,” Y/N mumbled more to themselves than to the unfortunate man in their clutches, they were sure it wasn’t going to do his leg any good, now that they knew it was broken bone beneath the scarred flesh. So he wasn’t born this way, they had thought silently. 

It felt like hours when in reality it was only maybe 25 minutes before Y/N was dragging Kaz Brekker up the little steps of the Slat, back to the door and shoving it open with all their might. They could feel the sting in their shoulder blade as they stumbled backwards, landing on their tailbone and still clutching onto the unconscious man they were trying so damn hard to save for no apparent reason. All the frustration seemed to be finally catching up, tears unwillingly streaming down their face, soaked in someone else’s blood and so utterly stressed as they sniffled and hooked their hands back under Brekker’s form, dragging him completely into the building. Y/N’s body gave up, leaving them both sat at the floor, one sat up and clutching the Bastard of the Barrel unceremoniously to their chest, no strength left to keep moving his dead weight.

“Brekker, you’ve gotta wake up. I can’t do this on my own, they might kill me. I don’t know what to do.”

“What in the Saints?” 

Y/N turned their head to the side, meeting eyes with a tall Zemeni man, hands on his revolvers and tweed jacket covered in dust, soot, debris of many kinds. He had cuts all over his beautiful face but seemed otherwise unscathed. Nothing life threatening. It didn’t take him long to rush forward, linking one of Brekker’s arms over his shoulder lifting the weight off of Y/N; they went with the moment anyway, staggering to their feet and helping drag the man to a table and throwing him onto it, back against the cold wood. Once he was placed, albeit unceremoniously, they stumbled into a seat, elbows propped on the table and head in their palms. 

Saints, Y/N was exhausted. 

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“Why are you staring at me, Jesper?” Kaz heard his own voice spit, hoarse and dry. It was the first words he’d spoken in who knew how long, his usual scowl hanging on his tired features the moment he opened his eyes. He scanned the room around him, a low frown on his bitten lips and brows taut with tension that easily mirrored the waves wracking through every fiber of his body. 

“Oh, thank the Saints,” Jesper sighed from beside him, hands clutched in a prayer as he looked to the ceiling and then back down, hands resting on his revolvers and grand smile on his wonky mouth. 

“Saints don’t stick their fingers into open wounds,” Kaz shot back, pushing himself up with one arm and pressing a hand to his head, the blistering headache unaided by the dim light. He vaguely registered that he was in the Slat, the events of all that transpired clawing at every crevice of his mind. He couldn’t be thankful about that. He didn’t want to be. He didn’t want to drown again. He didn’t want to think of it. All the same, he was breathing. He was alive. Kaz Brekker had made it through the night.

His eyes then fell upon a hunched over figure, head laid upon crossed arms that were gripped by bloodstained fingers, the entire surface of skin a rich shade of red that seeped into their clothes, sat in messy hair and splattered across gentle cheeks. The healer. His brows furrowed tighter, hand dropping to absentmindedly massage his aching leg and he stared. And stared. And stared. That was his blood.

“Been here all night, boss. Wouldn’t leave your side until you were stable and stitched. Cost ‘em a good deal of energy though, passed out as soon as you were sorted and hasn’t moved since. Still breathing though, poor little love,” Jesper recited, giving them a nudge with his hand but Kaz shook his head, unfamiliar feelings stirring inside his chest. Just let them rest, Jes.

“What happened?” He mumbled, fingers twitching and gloved. He briefly remembered warm fingers unbuttoning his shirt, smoothing his skin, a voice whispering kindly to him, then searing pain. He didn’t want to think of the rest, didn’t want to feel the water in his lungs and cold hands holding his head just beneath the surface of frozen waters. 

Jesper shifted, arms folding and hands tucking beneath his armpits, lips pursing and he awkwardly shifted his weight from foot to foot, sheepishly shifting his gaze from his feet, to Kaz, then back to his feet, then back to Kaz.

“Razorgulls, maybe. Then Stadwatch, then whoever else. It’s still a mess, honestly. Everyone else is doing as good as can be, I suppose; Inej was here but went back out with Nina to do something. I don’t know. Wylan’s asleep. Someone planted explosives and somebody else accidentally… shot them,” He sheepishly pointed to himself with his thumbs, but the shame was evident. 

“What about them?” Kaz nodded to the stranger still sleeping on his table, inches from where he sat on the table, legs outstretched.

“Y/N Y/L/N. Works in one of the printing shops, didn’t find anything about them being grisha though, so must have kept that hidden well or their boss is the only one who knows. The rest is a mystery other than the piss poor amount of kruge they get for the work they do.”

“That’s it?” Kaz’s tone sounded harsh, short, even to his own ears.

“That’s it.”

Kindness was not a thing that existed in the Barrel. In Ketterdam. In Kerch. In him. Kaz had a hard time truly trying to decipher this stranger’s motives. They had recognized him, calling him by name numerous times. There had never been any real malice, no fear either. Concern for his well-being, but not their own life. It was foolish. They could have gotten themselves killed all for what? To save the Dirtyhands and hope to reap the reward they must expect to come from it? He had half the mind to put a bullet in their head and dump them in the harbor before they even had a chance to see the benefits of all of their hard work. Kindness did not exist in Ketterdam and Kaz Brekker was a daily reminder of that fact.

But as the stranger known as Y/N Y/L/N stirred from their restless slumber, their eyes opening and meeting Kaz’s, he was reminded of the gentleness of their tone of voice, talking to him about books, about pie. Keeping him grounded even as he sank down and down and down and couldn’t breathe, feeling those hands shove him down faster and faster and the tide rushing over head, his brother staring up at him with lifeless eyes and the soft, slimy and cold feeling beneath his fingertips - warmth.

Kaz’s eyes snapped to the hand lightly hovering over his broken leg, just enough to stitch the gashes around his feet and ankles, only now noticing the shredded ends of his tailored trousers. The healer was at work again, a small yet tired smile on their face, tiredness present in fine lines across their face, beneath their eyes and soon they were staring back at him, cheeks flushed and hair a desperate mess, soaked with Brekker’s blood.

“You look better, much better. I’m so glad, Mister Brekker,” Y/N laughed breathlessly, and Kaz didn’t know how they were able to. He didn’t understand it and all he could do was sit there, noting that this stranger didn’t offer to fix the break in his bone, just the damage that must have been caused in the explosion and when they had apparently dragged him all the way back to the Slat.

“With cinnamon.” That was all he could muster his blank mind to say.

The pair exchanged a glance, one that lingered, one that had both of their lips pulling upwards slightly and tips of ears maybe turning a shade of pink.

┕━━━━━━━♔━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┙

[monpalace]

When Pietro tells his lover what he wants to do while half-asleep. He wasn’t supposed to actually do it.

"I wanna have a pac-man machine." Pietro had admitted when his mind was finally muddled with sleep, his fifth day of hibernation after a particularly hard mission had taken its toll. His fingers had begun vibrating as he slipped deeper into the confines of his mind, only managing to keep them still enough to hold yours and not phase past the molecules of your hand. "I know you wanna put a tv near where I wanna put it, but we could put it beside it."

Sleepily smiling at him, you press a kiss to the boney area of his wrist. "Alright," you whisper back, not bothering to clear your throat when the gravel fills it. "We'll think about it."

You aren't given the liberty of opening your eyes on your own time when afternoon of the next day comes.

Pietro was relentless in his efforts to wake you up, pushing and shoving you from one way before speeding over to the other and repeating the action. "Babe— babe— babe!" He exclaims, words cutting into themselves as one thought process interrupts the next and the one before it. "Guess what I got!"

Knowing his impatience, you wrap your arms around his neck with as much strength you can muster so early into your waking and shiver when his frigid hands secure themselves on your thigh and neck. He doesn't speed as he usually would, but he does move at his most-certainly-faster-than-everything-else pace.

Setting you down comfortably on the living room sofa and wrapping you in a blanket in a way that you could still use your arms, Pietro speeds to the kitchen and brings out a poorly made breakfast tray.

"I know you said we'd think about it, but I felt like you'd say no so I got you something else to sweeten the deal."

"Was it this food or did you steal something?"

"Both!"

"Continue."

Biting his lip, Pietro holds up a finger and tries to say "give me a few seconds," before cutting himself off by rushing away.

When you pick up your fork, there's a large, thin box on the floor. When you stab a piece of fruit onto one if its throngs, a flatscreen tv with a jumbled mess of wires sat upon the wall. When you bring the fork up to your mouth, the wires were taken care of and out of sight.

When your lips part for the fruit, there's a pac-man machine beside it.

It was a reasonable enough distance to not be distracting or an eyesore, and the retro style of it matched the rest of your shared living space— but it was still a fully blown arcade machine.

"I read two instructions manuals for these!" The silver speedster exclaims while gesturing vaguely at the machines, his accent slipping through his words as more emotion entered his voice. "Two, babe! It was so hard!"

Placing the tray and drink to the side, you stand with a look that expressed more than just your exhaustion. Your hands run along the old, eighties machine and find no spots of rust on it.

He must've cleaned it before or while he was setting it up.

"How far out did you go?"

"Sweden."

"Sweden?"

"Visby."

"Visby, Sweden?"

"Am I speaking to fast?"

With a pointed look from you, Pietro's lips thin as he picks you up, trudges over to the couch, places you it, and collapses on it. "Sorry," he mutters, laying his head on your lap. Fatigue creeping its way back into his bones.

"Have you eaten today?" You ask, already pressing the fork (with the fruit still on it) to his lips. You smile down at him when he shakes his head while opening his mouth to take the offering. "Then I guess you can have the entire plate then."

"I made it for you, though," he argues.

"I'm not the one who decided to run halfway across the globe while recovering."

"I've been bested."

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

Can we please have a sneak peek at your Donna Troy x kryptonian reader, chemical brain fic?

I LOOOOOVE how there is one person who follows me who is obsessed with Donna Troy. and specifically obsessed with this fic (you are probably the person who requested it, shout out to you)

when I finish this fic, know it was for you. ALSO, I added 'first kiss with Donna Troy' to my schedule, just for you <333

I am gonna put this one back on my schedule again too

also looking at it, there is way more of it done than I thought there was (but I still need to finish like 60% of it oof)

soooo - SURE. a preview it is

(Currently Untitled) The Rage Chemical Fic - Donna Troy x Fem!Kryptonian!Reader (Angst, Hurt and Comfort) - FANFIC PREVIEW

(also this fic really needs a title. like badly)

Warnings for this preview: cheesy flirting, mentions of Dawn x Dick (because this is set during the 'flashback era' with the OG Titans); not a lot of warnings here? stalking/unknown surveillance, the reader being a target for Cadmus and not knowing it, the reader uses she/her pronouns; the reader has Kryptonian powers (super strength, flight, lazer eyes, etc.) but I don't think that it has to denote the reader's body type. I think that's it for this preview section.

...

It was an odd sight, but strangely enough - the Tower was calm.

Somehow, the Titans had stumbled upon the conditions to have themselves a calm, quiet Sunday. Garth and Hank were sitting on the couch trying to best each other in Call of Duty, their eyes glassed over as they stared at the screen and obnoxious shooting noises came from the TV (which had been forcefully turned down by Donna so that everyone else could enjoy their peace). Dick was sitting in one of the large armchairs with Dawn in his lap - it seemed that he was enjoying a rare moment of not having to do much of anything, soaking up the calmness. 

And you were in the kitchen with Donna, preparing a selection of foods for a homemade taco night (Donna’s idea), snacking on more bits than you were helping with as she pattered around, glancing between recipes she had pulled up on her iPad and stirring pots, chopping things, checking timers. Even when the team had the day off - she couldn’t rest. She was a busy body, she couldn’t help herself. 

“Six letter word for a rare flower?” Dawn was doing the Sunday crossword puzzle, and as usual, she had tried to get the answers on her own for a while, bending her own mind with the clues - but she was growing tired of guessing, so now she was fishing for answers. 

“Lamium?” Dick posed, running a hand gently up her back, quietly pleased to have such a beauty sitting in his lap. 

Dawn scrunched her nose as she looked at the puzzle closer. 

“No.” She said. “It starts with a D.”  

“A rare flower? How about - Donna?” You said, turning to Donna with a wicked smirk on your face as you popped a piece of raw bell pepper between your lips. 

Donna rolled her eyes at this very obvious bid to flirt, and you caught her suppressing a grin as she snatched a cutting board out from under you, filled with the peppers you had just been cutting - before she moved away with it, she leaned in a gave you a haste, sweet peck on the lips. She wanted to scold you when she tasted a variety of food on your lips and realized that you had been sneaking so much of it that was supposed to go into the final dinner, but she resisted. Instead, she turned and scooped the peppers into a pan on the stove behind her. 

“Barf.” Hank barged into the conversation suddenly, letting out a very fake gag.

...

Somewhere many miles outside of San Francisco, in a secluded bunker that was filled with Cadmus employees that couldn’t be traced back to LexCorp legally, a group of people eagerly watched a set of security monitors. 

Those monitors were filled with footage of you. Newsreels of you saving children from burning buildings, lifting cars off a collapsing bridge in order to save the people inside of them, cellphone footage of you holding up a concrete pillar to keep it from crushing a homeless encampment. 

In the center of all the screens, there were several invasive views of the Titans’ home. Someone had hacked into the Tower’s feed and was displaying it on those screens. While the Titans laughed, joked, and ate dinner, they had no clue that they were being watched by prying eyes. 

“Are you sure she’s the one?” One of the men asked, flicking through some pages on a clipboard in front of him. Files regarding your history. 

“She’s perfect.” A stern woman announced. “I want to start the test as soon as possible.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Someone else agreed. “We can have it launched within the hour.” 

[theskylarkin]

KHOC Week Day 3 - Dream

(I'm mixing up the order of the prompts just a bit for the sake of narrative-building.)

What is something they dream about?

Word Count: 1468

In Relai’s opinion, the only good thing about living in San Fransokyo was finally getting her own bedroom.

No longer would Relai be woken up in the middle of the night when her twin clambered down the creaky ladder of their old bunk bed to get a glass of water. She’d never have to put up with Mariss’ nonsensical insistance that they divide their shared room equally ever again; no matter how much she’d tried to keep her various art projects on “her side” there had always seemed to be some clutter that spilled over the imaginary boundary and earned the ire of her twin. Now Relai was finally free to just leave her stuff wherever, or at least until Aunt Anima or Uncle Mundi made her clean her room.

When the four of them had moved into the house in San Fransokyo, the walls of Relai’s bedroom were already painted a sterile white just a few shades lighter than the cream carpet. The munny her aunt and uncle had on hand was only enough to buy the property; they wouldn’t have any real furniture for a few months. So Relai rolled out the old sleeping bag Aunt Anima found in a secondhand store in the middle of the room and set down the knapsack carrying her only worldly possessions left before flopping onto the floor and staring up at the ceiling.

She’d wanted a room of her own for ages, but not like this.

Relai reached into the knapsack and pulled out the only piece of home she’d managed to grab before the family was forced to evacuate: a box of fancy oil pastels her mother had given her for her eleventh birthday. She’d stared at it longingly every time she passed it in the shop window and even though Mom would always scoff at the price, there it was wrapped in red paper on the dining table next to Mariss’ gift. Holding it then felt like a dream come true, holding it now only reminded her of all that she’d lost.

Clutching the box to her chest, Relai nearly started to cry again as a sense of overwhelming nothingness washed over her. You don’t belong here, the walls closing in around her seemed to say.

This wasn’t home. This would never be home.

In the months that followed, Relai was plagued with nightmares about the fall of Radiant Garden. Almost every night, the chaotic memories replayed themselves endlessly: the sky darkening as the hordes of shadow creatures descended upon the castle town, the cobblestone streets splitting apart with an almighty crack as the ground shook, the screams of the people around her suddenly cutting off as the land underneath their feet collapsed or the monsters caught up with them.

The resulting lack of sleep didn’t make it any easier for Relai to get used to the new school Aunt Anima had enrolled the twins in. San Fransokyo was a world with far more advanced technology than that of Radiant Garden; Mariss had a theory that this clear technological superiority was a result of the world’s inhabitants never discovering the existence of magic. Whatever the reason, the San Fransokyo schools placed much more focus on math and science, neither of which were Relai’s strong suit. It was difficult to explain to her new teachers that she hadn’t learned everything she was supposed to already know at her current grade level without revealing that she wasn’t from this world.

Mariss, on the other hand, acclimated to the new curriculum with enviable ease. (Relai chalked it up to them being a huge nerd, but it still stung to see the ease at which her twin was doing with school and getting to know their new classmates.) However, they were just as beset by nightmares of their frantic flight from Radiant Garden as she was. One night, Relai woke up to find Mariss curled up beside her on the floor, wrapped up in their own sleeping bag and shaking uncontrollably. “Bad dreams?” she asked groggily and Mariss nodded. “Yeah, me too. What did you see?”

Mariss’ nightmares were similar to her own, but strayed further from what had actually happened that day. Sometimes they saw their missing parents, reaching out to pull them to safety only to turn into the shadows with yellow eyes and sharp claws. Other times either her, Aunt Anima, or Uncle Mundi tripped as they were fleeing and were swallowed up by the darkness before they could hit the ground. Then one time they all made it to the hangar only for the gummi ship that had brought them to safety taking off without them.

Once Mariss finally felt brave enough to return to their own room, Relai tried unsuccessfully to get back to sleep. Finally giving up, she stood up to turn on the lights and was briefly blinded by the bright blankness of her empty room, as boring as a clean sheet of paper.

Wait…

With a burst of manic creative energy, Relai reached for her coveted box of oil pastels, marched over to the closest wall, and started to recreate her home.

She drew the plants and flowers of Uncle Mundi’s little backyard garden, followed by the sprawling gardens in front of the castle that he’d been in charge of before his retirement, wearing down every single green pastel to almost nothing. She drew the cascading waterfalls of the fountain plaza, smudging them with her fingers until the pink, purple, and blue hues matched the walls of water when the sunlight hit them just right. (Relai absentmindedly wiped her hands on her pajamas, staining them with various shades of purple.) She even drew the castle at the center of the world and its chaotic array of towers sticking out at every angle.

By the time Mariss arrived to wake her up for school, Relai’s mural had expanded to cover half of one wall. Her twin opened the door, saw the mess of color, and immediately turned and ran down the stairs. “Aunt Anima! Uncle Mundi! Relai’s drawing on the walls!” she could hear Mariss tattling from the kitchen.

Unexpectedly, Relai’s aunt and uncle seemed more impressed by her handiwork than upset, to Mariss’ apparent annoyance. “Well, I did say I’d let the two of you pick any color you wanted for your rooms,” Aunt Anima remarked dryly. “This is lovely, Relai, but this much oil pastel is never going to dry. It’ll smear into an awful mess and ruin the carpet.”

“Don’t worry, we can paint over it later,” Uncle Mundi suggested. “It’d be a shame to lose such a beautiful rendition of Radiant Garden. It’s like we never left!”

“I wanted to make sure I always remember home like it used to be,” Relai said in a small voice, barely suppressing a sniffle. “Before Mom, Dad, and Sophia disappeared and everything went wrong.”

“Oh, honey,” Aunt Anima sighed as she pulled Relai into a tight hug. As Relai fought back tears, she saw Mariss look away in embarrassment before backing out into the hallway.

“I know you miss them, we all do.” Relai felt Uncle Mundi place a hand on her shoulder. “But your parents… and your cousin would want you to keep moving forward. And as long as you keep those memories in your heart, there will always be a part of them and Radiant Garden that lives on.”

True to his word, Uncle Mundi started to put munny aside for Relai’s paints as soon as his first paycheck for his new job came through. Within a year, Relai had a real bed in her bedroom where she could see her wall-length mural of Radiant Garden every time she fell asleep.

Now when she dreamed of home, she envisioned a world where the darkness had never taken hold. A world where her family and friends were alive and well. A world where she didn’t have to hide who she was because of some stupid World Order.

A world where she felt like she belonged.

Relai didn’t know if Mariss dreamed of Radiant Garden anymore. They seemed more concerned with trying to fit in with their new friends nowadays, something Relai just couldn’t understand. Neither of them would ever truly be a part of this world, so why even bother to try?

Funnily enough, Relai’s good dreams were still causing trouble for her in school. She would zone out in the middle of class while daydreaming about her perfect world, only snapping back to reality when the bell rang. One day, the school guidance counselor called her up to his office and warned her that her future was in serious jeopardy if her grades didn’t improve.

But Relai didn’t care; her dreams so were much more interesting than her current reality anyway.

@khoc-week

[aaronsrpgs]

I've been so excited about this game for so long! They were kind enough to let me write a foreword for it, the entirety of which is below the break.

Thank god for mutants.

My first mutant encounter was in a flea market at the Warrens Cranberry Festival circa 1991. I hesitantly parted with my allowance to buy a comic whose cover’s top third (where the title and issue number were) had been torn off to secure monetary returns from the magazine distributor. Inside, five mutants struggled with being hated and, thereby, hating themselves. The art had a violent energy to it, ink scraped and splattered across the page by a young Bill Sienkiewicz and spare, harsh colors by Glynis Wein. Despite being in the X-Men family of comics, New Mutants shocked me in a way that changed my perception of art forever. It felt struggling and sinewy, like it was pulling itself toward its own creation.

The X-Men are famous the world over and must remain vaguely and forever themselves for the sake of marketing. The New Mutants, on the other hand, are virtual unknowns. They’re allowed to change. They get weird.

The joy of getting weird.

It’s great to fantasize about being beautiful while also shooting deadly beams from your eyes. But it’s a power fantasy, and for most of us, it remains out of our reach.

But to be a freak is a different kind of fantasy. Most of us are at least on our way there; many of us are already registered citizens of Freaktown. And the fantasies of freakdom are a bit different. They might include…

Watching the system collapse in the face of your freakiness.

Finding a bunch of other freaks.

Being accepted in your full freakitude.

But to me, to be a freak is to be allowed to change. To mutate. A freak can grow a new arm and remain at an equivalent level of freakiness. A freak can cancel their plans because of anxiety and not be rated any lower or higher than they already were. Being a freak is both a binary “yes” and an infinite spectrum. And this invitation to change is what the world (or at least the very limited pieces of it I see) needs right now.

Don’t fart on buses.

In the places I frequent, the refusal to change is extreme. I would not be surprised to read a news story where, upon farting aboard a crowded bus, a man is scolded for his behavior and asked not to repeat it, whereupon he stands up and hold forth on freedom: the freedom to fart where he pleases, no matter who is present and how thick the air is. And to request that he not engage in his god-given freedom to hot-box commuters, why, that is many degrees more sinful than the flatulent act, and you should be ashamed to even have mentioned it! This man is the worst X-Man ever, refusing to change, because that would mean hard work and ego death.

But we should be thankful for change! We should work on change. Change is why we’re not babies anymore. Change is why we don’t make the same stupid mistakes. Change is the only hope we have for a world where we’re not stuck huffing the farts of insistent farters.

Finally, Plasmodics.

Let’s get to the point. Plasmodics is a celebration of freaks. All the mutants are here, and we’re all smiling. But it’s not a static utopian fantasy; it’s an irradiated fata morgana of our own anti-freak world, where bad decisions outside of our control have ended our hopes for utopia over and over, and they will continue to do so.

So we scrabble around, searching for the artifacts our mutantcestors left behind, reveling in what might have been, and doing our small part to hold off the next ending so we can build some space and party down.

Come on in! The plasm’s fine.

[qcontinuumumum]

Fulgrim AU

It was a glorious dawn on Chemos, the last day of servitude as its industry advanced, its people free from labour and able to pursuit their own desires. The Coronation celebrated the one who changed the planet's fate, Fulgrim, he had stopped the never-ending toil the populace endured for the resources of off-world traders that they needed to survive.

Fulgrim awoke in his palace, it was a renovated factory with its machines removed. The first art of Chemos covered the palace, far from the drab greys the planet had only ever known, the walls were coloured in violets, scarlets and rouges. Paintings hanged on the walls, drawn on the back of supply mainfestos.

Gifts were left by his door, some priceless such as an ornate sword left by an old crone, others more sentimental like a child's doll that had one of its eyes torn off and had stitches over its body.

"These are the gratitudes of my people" Fulgrim mused.

As he walked the halls a man was waiting for him, he was dressed in fine clothing the likes of which the planet had never seen, decorated in shiny gems, all this marked him as one of the off-world traders that the planet once depended on.

"Congratulations" the man spoke "you've made a fine change here, this opulence suits you. If you wanted more you could strike a deal with me. Your people must be grateful to you for all the help you've given them, but they aren't capable of having so much freedom all to themselves, i mean look at this rubbish".

He gestures towards the paintings and the gifts. "This is the work of people who wouldn't know the meaning of beauty, they are labourers they need labour. I could show you exotic pieces from other worlds, and all you would have to do is let me take a few of these people to one of the distant moons to do what they do best, work".

He picks up the doll.

"I mean this is just plain shit", as he tosses it toward a wall.

Quicker than the man eyes could see, Fulgrim had rushed between the doll and the wall, catching it.

"This is mine" exclaimed Fulgrim "these people are mine, their achievements are mine, their future is mine and i will not let them suffer from parasites such as yourself who would let them work themselves to death for your gain and stifle their own desires".

"Your pride will be your downfall", the man stormed off.

Later that night

Fulgrim stood on the balacony addressing a crowd of hundreds of thousands.

"This is the future you have all been tirelessly working for and you will share in its wealth," before the speech could continue the sky was alight with flame as fire fell upon the palace grounds.

The people screamed and trampled over each other to get away, the palace was in blazes and many couldn't escape. Fulgrim looked up at the source and saw in the planet's thermosphere a trading vessel.

The palace collapsed with Fulgrim trapped, the fire consuming all within. The paintings destroyed, the doll burned and the ornate sword... glowed. Its light grew as the last death yell of the people trapped within.

Fugrim reached for the sword and feeling its energy unleashed it.

The ship above was ripped from realty as a warp hole appeared and its crew ripped apart by the souls of the dead.

In the dawn Fulgrim rose from his ashes.

[birdmitosis]

So my brain is full-on thinking about a Bloodborne AU for STP. And I've got a lot of the pre-story stuff figured out...

Before the actual story starts, the Narrator is horrified and despairing over the state of Yharnam. There seems to be no way to stop these transformations… Most of the town turning into beasts because of the Healing Church's blood ministration, others changing in horrifying ways due to the knowledge they're gaining or experimentation being performed on them, even the Hunters themselves becoming the worst beasts once they have hunted too much. It seems impossible to stop this horrific collapse of everything and everyone the Narrator thinks of as home.

But then he has an idea. And he calls upon the Shifting Mound -- a deity, a force of the universe, a Great One who of course yearns for a child as they all do, and as they are all sympathetic in spirit She comes to him. He promises Her a ritual that will allow him to split off a piece of Her. And he does, but of course it's not to give Her a child.

The Narrator in this is not trying to slay the concept of death. He is instead desperately trying to slay the part of Her that is change. It is, he thinks, the only way to stop what is happening to Yharnam, to save those who are not already lost.

So he takes a part of Her and makes a Hunter. In the process, he loses his life, his ability to ever exist in the waking world. He and the Shifting Mound become tied to the Hunter's Dream -- as does the Plain Doll (the default Princess), a vessel for another little piece of Her. He had to take a piece of Her out of the Hunter in order to place a piece of himself inside them, too, and the Plain Doll will be able to call on some small part of the Shifting Mound's power to make the Hunter stronger. He hopes that this will allow them to become strong enough to destroy the Shifting Mound by the end.

And the Hunter becomes strong enough, but does not do it. Nor do They rejoin the Shifting Mound, however. They ascend themself, becoming the Long Quiet -- and in so doing, pieces of Them scatter off throughout Yharnam. Pieces who have confused bits of memory that make them feel like they're real people, who have a connection to the Hunter's Dream.

The Narrator gets rid of the Plain Doll. She is part of what encouraged the Long Quiet to become what They did. He cannot risk this happening again, and he has other chances, but only so many. One of them has to succeed; he's already given everything to this effort. So he takes over for the Plain Doll, though his ability to strengthen a Hunter is much harder for him to use, takes more out of him.

...AND AGAIN, that is all pre-story. Like the equivalent of the entire plot of Bloodborne is happening again, but it also happened before, with the Protagonist/the Long Quiet being the PC Hunter.

Now the PC Hunter is Voice of the Hero. And the other voices are out there, also scattered pieces of the Long Quiet, people but not originally people and not quite human but not aware of this.

The vessels are all out there too, and I'm not sure yet if I want them to be pieces of the Shifting Mound... I might play more with the idea that, as the vessels become less human, they become closer to the Shifting Mound, sort of the other side of the coin of that "you speak in circles, does it matter where one thing ends and the other begins" bit, where in this AU they weren't originally pieces of Her but does that really matter if She claims them and they come to Her?

Also also, there aren't a lot of direct 1-to-1s when it comes to characters, but things I definitely know for sure:

Hero is "the Hunter," of course.

Stubborn is also a Hunter and a member of the Powder Keggers. (Thank you for such a perfect idea, @captain-modeus-the-enby!)

Cold is the equivalent of Eileen the Crow, in that he is absolutely a Hunter of Hunters. Like 100% are you kidding me.

Broken is the equivalent of the Oedon Chapel Dweller because 🥺😭

Skeptic probably used to be associated with Mensis but bounced before they did that absolutely heinous shit in Yahar'gul.

Contrarian is potentially like Skeptic too, though Contrarian absolutely wears the blindfold cap of a member of the Choir (kind of like a reverse Edgar).

Not 100% sure about the other voices yet (Cheated might start off as just a "rescuable" "civilian"?) but I do know that Paranoid is going to be very unhappy to learn about a) "eyes on the inside" and b)the Amygdalas.

Obviously the Beast is a beast boss.

The Witch is probably somewhere in Hemwick Charnal Lane, but she might be in the woods elsewhere...

The Nightmare is absolutely the cornerstone of one of the Nightmare realms, like she feels like what you have to defeat to get out of the Nightmare of Mensis after dealing with tons of Frenzy throughout the whole place.

The Spectre used to be a Vileblood and is haunting Cainhurst Castle! Some of the others might be as well, like the Greys and the Wraith, if I don't just stick with Chapter II vessels (or if something happens to the Damsel or the Prisoner).

Speaking of them, though, probably not all the Princesses will be monsters/bosses. I think Damsel will also be a "rescuable civilian" that you can tell to go to the Chapel, and Prisoner will probably be in the Hypogean Gaol (maybe also rescuable, ssssort of the Adella equivalent only not with her same role?).

The Stranger might be the result of Choir experiments, in their attempts to turn people into Great Ones?

Not sure about the rest of the vessels either, tbh!

[carionto]

I think my Humans are closer to being Space Cockroaches

on drugs, sure, but hear me out

So, I seem to have a problem with planets (of the potentially habitable variety):

I'm literally collapsing Earth (plus Cthulu is in it, but that's another matter)

Haven't touched upon Venus, and Mars only got like one mention of getting sprinkled with asteroids and seed shotguns

Currently the planet they're trying to make habitable for dinosaurs, I just off-handedly set on fire

And another prospective one has been lost to Human-made Giant Mutant Ants

Meanwhile, various moons keep getting all the action, and there's way more moons than planets to boot, so I'm thinkin'...

You hear stories of people living in the most desolate places and creating sometimes amazing make-shift dwellings, so I'm pretty sure I've got Humans already all over the Galaxy living fully established lives and everything.

And I as the creator/author don't know about them yet. I didn't think to make it this way, at this point certain aspects of the world are creating themselves, I'm just becoming an observer who simply relays what I notice. In a way, it's kind of a cool feeling when the pieces I knowingly put down are now bringing other missing pieces into existence that I wasn't aware were part of the puzzle.

[lurafita]

Piece of dialoge that I would put in a reverse Malec au

As the title states, this is basically me writing down a kinda scene that's swimming around in my head.

it is definitely a story I want to write, but I'm not sure about my ability to write it. However, this one scene, though not fleshed out and pretty much just dialoge at the moment, made me want to type it up and share it with people who might enjoy it. Pairing: Magnus/Alec Lots of friendships and some background pairings that aren't depicted in this scene. Reverse!verse with Shadowhunter!Magnus and Warlock!Alec (as well as other known downworlders being shadowhunters and shadowhunters being downworlders.) I don't think any content warnings apply, as it is really just a scene with dialoge between Alec and Magnus, in which Magnus does most of the talking. Its main purpose is to portray the type of Shadowhunter I believe Magnus would be.

Alec: “You confuse me.”

Magnus, flirting: “In a good way, I hope.”

Alec, agitated: “You say you want to work your way up to a position of power in Idris. Become Inquisitor or Consul one day. Yet you act uncaring about the risk to your life that every new mission poses, and spit in the face of almost all of the Clave’s rules and regulations. I have lived for centuries, and in that time I have met many of your kind. You are… you confuse me.”

Magnus, smiling but contemplative: “I like being a Shadowhunter. Fighting against the forces of evil, protecting those that can’t protect themselves, helping those who need it. Working and training with Raphael and Catharina and Dot and Ragnor. Teaching Simon and watching him grow into his talents, though if you tell him I said that I will deny it. I truly, honestly, love these parts of my life. But I’m not blind to the Clave’s - and Shadowhunters’ as a whole, I guess - many shortcomings and failings. The Clave, our teachings and philosophies are far from perfect, and some are downright unjust. They are so very stuck in their ways and stagnant about the law, they carry prejudice and bigotry at their very center.

"Even after the circle, even after the uprising and the many little and big changes this whole world has gone through, Shadowhunters appear almost allergic to change. Non-heterosexual relationships still are discouraged and looked down upon by many, especially those of higher standings. Relationships with downworlders that aren’t purely professional are just one step above being forbidden, and if it weren’t for the accords, I have no doubt that the Clave would try to imprison anyone who engages in those. "I want to change this. As much as I can. But I won’t do it by playing by the very rules I wish to overthrow. I’m the son of a traitor, but I’m loyal to our mission. I’m openly bisexual, but I’m the best of my generation. I’m friends with more downworlders than most members of the Clave have met in their lifetime and have even dated some of them, and me and my team are still the ones other institutes call upon when they need back up.

"I don’t care about the obstacles the Clave will try to put into my way, or how much they turn up their noses. I will rise up the ranks one day and earn a position that enables me to make things better for the next generation, both Shadowhunters and Downworlders. And I will do it wearing fancy clothes and glittery make-up, proudly proclaiming any relationships I may have as loudly as I need to. I will prove to them that our world needs to change, and that it won’t collapse because a woman is leading an institute without a husband by her side, or because a male Shadowhunter is in a relationship with a male Downworlder. And while I may act a bit blasé about the dangers of my job, I’m not naive to the reason as to why many Shadowhunters die young. "But by the angel, as long as I live, I will walk this path towards change, and I won’t compromise who I am as I walk it.”

Then Alec looking at Magnus a little starstruck and awed.

And Magnus suddenly being a little uncomfortable going: “Phew, that was a lot of far too serious talk. What say you we go out for a drink? I know a great club in the city!”

[13tinysocks]

A nonexhaustive list of creepypasta x reader ideas ive had over the years and will never write. Please feel free to steal them and write them.

Red Eye

Coffee shop + slender mansion au. Yn is a lone night shift barista. The creepypasta(s) of your choice comes in every night for a red eye right before closing. Gotta fuel up before chasing down idiots who wandered in the woods. 

 Anyone whos worked customer service has felt a little homicidal before. After weeks of dealing with a shitty customer who management has done nothing about, yn takes matters into their own hands. By smashing their head in with a stovetop expresso maker. The creepypasta sees this though yn is unaware. Expecting them to be like any other human, the pasta thinks the next time the shop’s open yn wont be there. They’ll probably turn themselves in. Whatever.

But there’s no break in business for investigation and yns working there the next night. Upon realizing yn cleaned up the scene and is going on like nothing happened, the pasta’s interest is thoroughly peaked. Especially when another shithead customer gets brained a few weeks later. Realizing there’s a new serial killer in town, the pasta is more than interested but infatuated. 

Dead by Daylight

Slender mansion au + Splendorman

Slenderman had proxies that hunted and killed but what about Splendorman? Had always been the opposite of his stuffy older brother. When visiting after his domain collapses, he brings along his proxies. To which slender’s housemates/proxies were unaware existed. 

Splendor’s proxies are different. They don’t kill to feed him. They survive to feed him. Splendor puts them in near constant mortal peril for his own entertainment and sustenance. Be it randomly spawning them in the wilderness, sending random attackers after them, or straight up slicing off limbs. Most of his proxies don’t last a week. But yn has for years. Grizzled and exhausted, yn is a ruthless survivalist. They to keep the others alive but those stupid assholes never listen. There’s maybe one or two other proxies but they’re just this weeks cannon fodder. 

Splendor convinces Slender to let their proxies play. AKA “Hey! Your proxies should hunt mine down and try to kill them! Who ever has the best proxies wins this (slenders domain). Wouldn’t that be funny!” Except the game is contained to be only inside the vast slender mansion. 

Fun dynamics ensue. Cat and mouse. Splendor has a time out twice a day for a few minutes. Which really makes things awkward when a pasta is about to kill yn and they have to let them go because breaking the rules on their end means death. Ensue awkwardly eating lunch in the same room after trying to kill eachother. Okay, time outs over. Yns already gone. 

A rivalry esc romance blossoms from there. They def hatefuck. 

Meat Is Me

EJ x reader

Life hadn’t gone the way you wanted. Now you were working as a mortuary assistant. Work was gruesome but not that bad. Until money gets tight at work and you’re alone, finishing cleaning up after the boss went home. Strange people come into the mortuary, family, with fists full of cash to spend just another hour with their loved one alone.

Afterward, you don’t think that was a family member but you’ve made one month’s rent in a single night. He keeps coming back. He tells other freaks. They come in the night when you’re alone. You have to hide the things they do to the bodies from your boss. Sometimes they take pieces. But at least your pockets are well lined. It was almost worth it until he came in.

He hid his face. You thought he was more shameful than the other necro-freaks. When you go to check on the body after he’s had his time with it. Fuck. He’d re-opened the chest cavity you so skillfully sewn shut post-autopsy. Everything was fucking gone. Worst of all? He skipped on paying you.

You manage to hide it from the boss. But he keeps coming back. He keeps taking more and more. You can’t go to the cops about him skimping your cash, you weren’t doing the most legal shit either. But you were too pussy to do anything about it. Especially after you walked in on one of his sessions and found a gray-fleshed monster eating strings of tendon from the body. 

How the hell are you going to get out of this one? 

The Archive

Just a magnus archive au where yn is John and the creepypastas are the fears. Think about it ok.

[grandselfmythologizing]

GUIDING STAR— a UT Yellow fanfiction.⋆₊˚⊹♡

Fractured Dawn, Heaven-Bound; Part Two of Indeterminate . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ In the dim light of a dilapidated, poorly-maintained clinic, the frail traveler wakes from fevered dreams to find themselves under the care of the eccentric sheriff, North Star. Amidst the pain and weakness, a fragile bond forms, offering a glimmer of hope and the promise of healing in the heart of the Wild East.

Trigger Warnings: Moments suggesting disability and/or chronic illness(es) although never explicitly stated, and body dysmorphia due to aforementioned hints. Please heed said warnings and stay safe.

The world was a haze of ache and fevered dreams. The child stirred from the depths of their unconsciousness, their body heavy and unresponsive, as though anchored to the bed by an impossible, insurmountable weight. The clinic, identified as such by a swift observation, around them was a far cry from any sanctuary of healing— its walls were cracked and peeling, the air thick with the scent of apparent neglect. The thin cot they lay upon wes draped in unwashed sheets, stiff and stained, adding to the pervasive sense of discomfort that clung to their every breath.

Their mind, still clouded by the fever's grip, struggled to piece together the unraveled fragments of their journey. They remembered the bleak corridors of the Underground, the harsh landscape that seemed determined to break their spirit, and finally, the vibrant chaos of the Wild East. And then, the sheriff— the eccentric, almost comical, caricature of a Western dream— catching them as they fell and subsequently faintined, his presence a strange amalgamation of absurdity and comfort.

Now, in the dim light of the clinic, the child felt the full weight of the ordeal settle into their weary bones, oppressed with fatigue and weakness. The adrenaline that had driven them forward was gone, replaced by a creeping pain that gnawed at their edges. Every movement was an exertion, every breath a struggle. They felt as fragile as glass, teetering on the brink of shattering.

A deep sense of abhorrence welled up within them, a loathing for the weakness that held them captive. They had always prided themselves on their resilience, their ability to push through adversity. Yet now, their body betrayed them, refusing to obey their will. They tried to sit up, to fight against the tide of their own frailty, but the effort was too much. The world tilted, their surroundings doubled in their vision hazed in weakness, and they sank back into the bed, defeated.

Fuck.

It was then that the door creaked open, and the familiar figure of the sheriff stepped into the room. Although less glorious removed from the traveler’s delirious stupor, his presence encompassed the entirety of the space, larger than life, his usual theatrical bravado tempered by a genuine concern that flickered in his eyes.

"Well, howdy there, partner," he greeted, his jubilant intonation yielding a warm, rumbling affection. "Glad to see you're awake."

Despite their near mental unravel the mere moment prior, the child managed a faint, weary smile, though it felt more like a grimace. The figure approached the bed, his movements surprisingly gentle for someone so flamboyant. He pulled up a rickety stool and sat down, and the traveler, nevertheless how delirious and exhausted, mentally remarked on how his eyes never once left their face.

Admittedly, it made him look kind of a dork— his back hunched, his limbs drawing the chair to his backside, and subsequently jolting forward nearer, and his attention undivided in almost discreet, meticulous observation of the traveler’s expression. How endearing.

"You gave us quite a scare back there," he said, his tone a mix of humor and earnestness. "Just collapsed right into me. Talk about a first meeting, huh?"

Succeeding an embarrassed flush, the child’s lips part agape a weak chuckle, which quickly escalated into a vehement cough. The cowboy’s expression softened further, a rare glimpse of the man beneath the sheriff's persona.

"Hey, listen, kiddo," he continued, "you're in pretty rough shape, yeah? We got a clinic here, but as you can see, it ain't exactly top-notch. We're doin' the best we can with what we got. But you need to rest, let yourself heal."

Huh, “kiddo”…

That was nice.

The child nodded meekly, the effort of even that minuscule, nearly indiscernible movement rendering them breathless. North Star extended a hand in reach for them, his hand resting lightly on their shoulder— swiftly obscuring a grimace upon the sharpness of bones prominent against the child’s flesh upon touch.

"I'm North Star," he introduced himself, a strained, although reassuring smile playing on his lips— and a sudden, boastful air of pride. "Sheriff of these parts, for better or worse. And you, my friend, are under my care now. So you just focus on gettin' better, and we'll take it one step at a time."

Inexplicably coaxed by the tenderness thus offered, the child's eyes fluttered closed, a sense of weary relief washing over them. It was almost against their will, instinctive— to fall so vulnerable, to the extent of unconsciousness.

For the first time since their fall into the Underground, the hope they so desperately clung to was eased and satiated. In this dilapidated clinic, under the watchful eye of a most unconventional sheriff, they had unwittingly secured themself a sanctuary, however eccentric.

And as North Star sat beside them, humming a soft tune that echoed with the warmth of a bygone era, the child drifted back into a fitful sleep. The pain and fever still clung to them, but there was a promise now, a fragile bond that whispered of healing and the strength to endure.

“When you get better, I’ll take you out for Ice Cream, yeah?”

p.s/mod’s note: rip starlo u would have 💘ed Backburner … guess i won’t ever minddd crisping up on ur backkkk burnerrrrr (distant echoes of “back burnerrr” over and over again)

also hi an update ?? to this fic ?? um …i kinda projected for a moment erm oops !! just needed a little bit of comfort ermmm damn !! IDK bro but part one here !!:

reader will get a little better maybe in the next chapter ?? and possibly meet the posse !! and Ceroba !! also here’s ur tag lemme know if u want me to stop with it LMAO @schnozzlebozzle